RO  X  Y. 


204.) 


BO  XT 


BY 


EDWARD    EGGLESTOIST, 

AUTHOR  OF  -'THE  HOOSIER  SCHOOLMASTER,"  "THE  CIRCUIT  RIDER,* 

ETC.,  ETC. 


Entkousiasme,  etat  momentan6,  mouveinent  extraordinaire  d'esprit,  cause  pre?qua 
tonjours  par  une  cause  exc6ricure.  Exaltaiion,  6tat  habituol,  616vacion  constant  ciue 
i'4tue  doit  a,  ses  propres  forces,  que  eat  dans  sa  propre  nature. 

GUIZOT,  Dictionnaire  cles  Synonymts. 


NEW    YORK-. 
CHARLES     SCRIBNER'S     SONS, 


COPYKIGHT  BT 

OH-A.RLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS, 

1878. 
(Ail  rifjttts  reserved.} 


TROW'S 

PRINTING  &  HOOK  BIN  DING  Co., 

205-213  East  \?<k  St., 

NEW  YOUK. 


CONTENTS./^/ A/ 


PAQI 

CHAPTER  I. 
The  Barbecue  ................................................       1 

CHAPTER  II. 
After  the  Feast  ...............................................     13 

CHAPITER  HI. 
The  Country  Hoe-Down  ............  .  .  .".  ......................     3o 


CHAPTER  IV. 
Electioneering  ................................................     35 

CHAPTER  V. 
Election  Day  .................................................     43 

CHAPTER  VI. 
A  Genre  Piece.  ,  ........  ,,  ....................................     53 

CHAPTER  VII. 
Twonnet  ........................  .............................     63 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
The  Revival  ............................  ......................     66 

CHAPTER  IX. 
The  Member  from  Luzerne  ....................................     73 

CHAPTER  X. 
The  Exhorter.  ................................................     85 

»«  CHAPTER  XT. 

Divining  Oupa  ................................................     05 

CHAPTER  XII. 
Whittaker's  Ship  Comes  in.  ....................................  103 


VI  CONTENTS. 

FASH 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
A  Weather-Breeder 108 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Carpet-Rags  and  Ribbons 1 13 

CHAPTER  XV. 
Mark's  Mission 120 

CHAPTER  XVL 
After  the  Meeting.   125 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
A  Remonstrance 129 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
Gossip  and  Giggling 133 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
The  Ruling  Elder  Interferes    109 

CHAPTER  XX. 
A  Millstone 149 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
A  Summer  Storm 157 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
Roxy's  Decision 161 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
Bouamy,  Senior 166 

CHAPTER  XXTV. 
By  the  Flank. 171 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
Saint  Theresa  of  the  Honeysuckles 17  ? 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
A  Panther 182 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
Nancy  in  Town 186 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

19(5 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XXTX. 
Thelnfare 200 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
Love  and  Grammar 211 

CHAPTER  XXXL 
An  Attempt  to  Foreclose 215 

CHAPTER  XXXTL 
The  Overthrow  of  Both 225 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
The  "Duke  of  Orleans"    233 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
A  Monitor  in  Mask 237 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 
Backslidings 245 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
An  Improper  Fraction. 252 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 
Divisions 258 

CHAPTER  XXXVIIL 
Going  Wrong 265 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 
The  Easy  Road  Downward 271 

CHAPTER  XL. 
Rosy  and  Whittaker 280 

CHAPTER  XLI. 
The  Enemy 290 

CHAPTER  XLII. 
Counsel,  and  the  Result 290 

CHAPTER  XLIII. 
Jim's  Rifle 305 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 
A  Break...  ..  312 


vi  11  CONTENTS. 

PAOB 

CHAPTER  XLV. 
Coming  Darkness 318 

CHAPTER  XLYI. 
Roxy  Shakes  the  Dust  from  her  Feet 320 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 
A  Day  of  Judgment 3C4 

CHAPTER  XLVIII. 
The  Tempter 340 

CHAPTER  XLIX. 
The  Helper 346 

CHAPTER  L. 
A  Woman  that  was  a  Sinner 355 

CHAPTER  LI. 
Salvation  by  Hook  and  by  Crook 366 

CHAPTER  LII. 
An  Expedition 376 

CHAPTER  LIIL 
Roxy's  Return 388 

CHAPTER  LIV. 
The  Clouds  Return  after  the  Rain 394 

CHAPTER  LV. 
Serving  Omphale 400 

CHAPTER  LVI. 
The  Gable  Window ."403 

CHAPTER  LVII. 
The  Steamboat  Explosion 414 

CHAPTER  LVIII. 
Jim  and  Nancy 423 

CHAPTER  LIX. 
The  Prodigal 424 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


1.  "  TI.L  PAY  HER  UP  !  " Frontirpuce. 

2.  THE  HOE-DOWN  AT  KIRTLEY'S 32 

3.  '  '  HURRAY  FOR  YORK  AND  POSEY  1" 47 

4.  TWONNET  AND  ROXY  TELLING  FORTUNES 95 

5.  "THE  OTHER   WAY!"     CRIED    THE   MISCHIEVOUS  VOICE 

OF  TWONNET , 107 

6.  "WIDOWERS  ARE  DREADFUL  PARTICULAR,  COLONEL." 173 

7.  "  PLEASE,  ROXY,  DON'T  LET  HIM  Go." 223 

8.  IMPROPER  FRACTIONS. 255 

9.  "  SHOOT  !    JIM,  SHOOT  I " 310 

10.  LATHERS  HELD  IT  so  SHE  COULD  SEE  IT ,  320 

11.  "YOU'RE  HAVING  A  HARD  TIME,  NANCY,"  SAID  ROXY....  382 

12.  THE  NEXT  SUNDAY  SHE  TOOK  HER  OLD  PLACK  IN  THE 

METHODIST  MEETING  HOUSE 431 


O  X  Y 


CHAPTEE    I. 

THE   BARBECUE. 

You  would  have  known  that  it  was  a  holiday  in  the 
county-seat  village  of  Luzerne,  had  you  fallen  in  with  a 
party  of  country  boys  dressed  in  white  cotton  shirts  and 
trousers  of  blue  jeans,  who  hurried  along  the  road  at  sun 
rise,  to  the  summit  of  the  hill  that  overlooks  the  town. 
You  might  have  guessed  that  it  was  an  occasion  of  merry 
making  by  the  eager  speech  and  over-reaching  steps  of  the 
boys,  hastening,  boy-like,  hours  beforehand  to  the  scene  of 
anticipated  excitement,  trembling  lest  some  happening  of 
interest  should  be  unseen  by  them.  Job's  war-horse  was 
never  half  so  eager  for  the  fray.  Hearing  already  the 
voices  of  others  of  their  kind  shouting  in  the  village  streets 
below,  they  do  not  pause  a  moment  on  the  crest  but  plunge 
forward  down  the  "  dug-road  "  that  slants  along  the  steep 
hill-side,  until  it  reaches  the  level  plain  below  and  de 
bouches  into  the  main  street  of  the  town. 

But  you,  had  you  been  of  their  company,  must  have 
halted  on  the  hill  to  look  off  eastward  where  the  sun 
Is  quivering  in  the  thin  yellow-and-white  horizon-clouds 
that  hang  over  green  hills.  You  must  have  stopped  to 
Look  at  the  Luzerne  island  in  its  many  shades  of  green, 


2  ROXT. 

from  the  dark  maple  -leaf  to  the  lighter  cotton-wood  anc, 
sycamore,  the  whole  fringed  by  a  margin  of  yet  pale* 
water-willows  which  dip  their  outermost  boughs  into  the 
placid  water  of  the  broad  Ohio,  glistening  in  the  early 
sunlight  like  the  apocalyptic  river  of  life.  You  must 
have  paused  and  looked  away  in  the  other  direction  to  the 
long  stretch  of  river  to  the  westward,  till  at  last  in  a 
grand  sweep  to  the  south  you  lost  sight  of  that  majestic 
current,  which  first  by  the  Indians,  then  by  the  French, 
and  then  by  the  English-speaking  settlers  has  been  called 
"  The  Beautiful."  You  must  have  looked  across  the 
mile-wide  current  to  the  little  Kentucky  village  on  the 
bank  opposite  you,  its  white  houses  shut  in  by  a  line  of 
green  hills  behind.  And  just  beneath,  on  the  nearer  bank, 
lies  Luzerne,  one  of  the  oldest  towns  in  this  new  country, 
and  the  fairest  object  in  the  landscape.  There  are  no  line 
houses — only  white  "  frame"  and  red  brick  ones,  with  now 
and  then  an  aboriginal  log-cabin  standing  like  an  old 
settler,  unabashed  among  more 'genteel  neighbors.  But 
all  the  yards  are  full  of  apple-trees  and  rose-bushes  and 
lilacs — lay-locks  the  people  call  them — and  altheas  and 
flowering  almonds.  Here  one  sees  chimney-tops  and 
roofs  jutting  out  of  the  surrounding  green  of  the  trees,  and 
there  are  large  patches  of  unfenced  greensward  or  "  com 
mon  "  upon  which  the  newly-milked  cows  are  already  con 
gregating,  their  bells,  on  different  keys,  keeping  up  a 
ceaseless  tinkling.  You  see  the  brand-new  court-house 
with  glittering  brass  ball  above  the  belfry,  standing  in  the 
treeless,  grass-green  "  public  square;"  and  there  in  plain 
Bight  is  the  eld  town  pump  in  front  of  the  court-house, 
and  about  it  the  boys  anu  girls  who  have  come  hither  for 
water. 

But  the  party  of  country  boys  with  whom  we  started 


1HE  BARBECUE.  3 

have  almost  reached  the  foot  of  the  hill.  They  have  gone 
down  running,  walking,  and  leaping  by  turns.  Now  and 
then  one  of  them  stops,  and  looking  over  the  valley  and 
the  village,  swings  his  cap  and  cries  out :  "  Hurrah  for 
Harrison  and  Tyler !  "  or,  "  Hurrah  for  Tippecanoe  and 
Tyler  too!"  Not,  perhaps,  because  he  knows  or  cares 
anything  about  the  candidates  for  the  presidency,  but 
because  a  young  cock  must  flap  his  wings  and  crow. 
Most  of  the  enthusiasm  of  a  political  canvass  is  the  efferves 
cence  of  animal  spirits.  The  struggle  of  the  leaders  is  to 
make  this  overflowing  tide  of  surplus  life  grind  their  grists. 
It  was  the  processions  and  hard  cider  and  log-cabins  of 
1840  that  gave  the  Whigs  the  election. 

But  now  other  parties  of  straggling  boys  and  men  are 
coming  into  the  village,  afoot  and  on  horseback,  over  this 
hill,  and  over  others,  and  along  the  river-banks ;  while 
skiffs  are  crossing  from  Kentucky.  In  the  village  the 
trees  are  full  of  birds;  yellow-hammers,  jays,  blue-birds, 
sap-suckers,  red-birds,  pee-wees,  cat-birds,  martins,  and  all 
the  others  that  abound  in  the  genial  climate  of  Southern 
Indiana,  are  filling  the  air  with  their  whistling  calls  to  one 
another;  the  singing  locust  sends  forth  everywhere  in 
quick-following  vibrant  waves  his  curious  notes ;  but  we 
do  not  hear  these  things.  The  usually  quiet  streets  have 
already  the  premonitory  symptoms  of  the  on-coming  ex 
citement  of  the  day,  and  the  village  lads  in  Sunday  clothes, 
but  barefoot  none  the  less,  are  singing  lustily  to  one  an 
other,  such  refrains  as  this :  * 

"  Hurrah  for  Harrison  and  Tyler ! 
Beat  the  Dutcb  or  bust  your  b'iler  1  " 

to  which  some  sturdy  Democratic  boy,  resolved  not  W 
strike  his  colors,  replies  with  a  defiant,  "  Hurrah  for  Little 


4  ROXY. 

Van ! "  and  the  Whig,  feeling  himself  in  the  ascendant 
for  the  day,  responds  by  singing : 

"  Little  Van's  a  used-up  man, 
A  used-up  man,  a  used-up  man, 
A  used-up  man  is  he  1 " 

But  the  opposite  side  can  readily  answer  again  with  ditties 
quite  as  forcible  and  ungrammatical. 

By  this  time  it  wants  a  quarter  of  six  o'clock,  and  the 
bell  in  the  belfry  of  the  tavern  is  ringing  in  a  jerky  fashion 
Us  warning  for  breakfast.  It  is  the  one  invariable  thing 
• — holidays  may  come  and  go,  but  the  tavern  bell  never 
fails  to  ring  at  six  and  twelve  and  six,  with  a  first  bell 
fifteen  minutes  before  the  hours  for  meals.  The  move 
ments  of  all  the  people  in  the  town  are  regulated  by  this 
steady  old  bell,  and  were  it  to  waver  in  its  punctuality 
the  life  of  the  community  would  be  thrown  into  disorder; 
clocks  would  have  no  regulator ;  meals  would  be  out  of 
time ;  farmers  would  not  know  when  to  start  home 
ward  ;  preachers  would  have  no  reminder  of  the  length 
of  their  sermons. 

By  seven  o'clock  on  this  day  of  the  barbecue,  the  village 
is  in  a  state  of  general  expectancy.  Girls  are  traveling  to 
and  fro  singly  and  in  squads  ;  women  are  talking  to  each 
other  over  garden  fences,  and  at  front  gates ;  merchants 
in  their  Sunday  clothes  are  standing  on  the  sidewalks,  and 
Doys  are  hurrying  away  to  the  great  beech-woods  on  the 
river-bank  above  the  town,  where  the  barbecue  is  to  bo 
held,  and  then  hurrying  back  to  the  village  to  see  what  ia 
to  be  seen  there.  Wagons,  loaded  with  provisions  of  var 
ious  sorts,  are  constantly  arriving  from  the  country  and 
making  their  way  direct  to  the  barbecue  ground. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Roxy  ? "  asks   a  girl  of  sixteen 


THE  BARBECUE.  5 

in  a  lawn  dress  of  another  a  year  older,  perhaps,  in  a 
bright  new  gingham.  She  speaks  with  that  flutter  of  ex 
pectancy  in  her  voice  which  girls  always  have  at  such 
times. 

"  To  the  beech-woods  to  see  them  roast  the  oxen —  I 
thought  it  might  please  Bobo,  here,"  and  saying  this  she 
turned  toward  a  pale  boy  whom  she  led  by  the  hand. 

"  Please  Bobo  here,"  the  lad  echoed,  with  a  childish 
exultation,  and  a  strange  wistful  look  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  wonder  what  poor  Bobo  thinks  about  these  things  \ >J 
said  the  girl  in  lawn,  looking  at  the  lad's  pale  face  and 
uncertain  eyes. 

"  Bobo  thinks  about  these  things,"  he  echoed,  with  a 
baby-like  chuckle  of  happiness. 

"  I  believe  he  does,  don't  you,  Roxy  ?  " 

"  I  know  he  does,"  said  Roxy,  looking  at  her  unfortu 
nate  charge  tenderly  ;  "  to  be  sure  he  does." 

"  To  be  sure  he  does,"  chimed  in  Bobo,  with  a  delight, 
which  was  increased  by  the  smiles  of  the  girls. 

"  You  see,"  continued  Roxy, "  he  was  a  very  smart  little 
fellow  till  he  got  that  fall.  I  don't  think  his  mind  is  in 
jured,  exactly.  It  is  only  the  brain.  It  secerns  to  me  like 
old  Mrs.  Post's  cataract  over  her  eyes,  a  sort  of  film — a 
cataract  over  his  mind,  Twonnet*  Things  don't  get  in 
and  out  well,  but  he  seems  to  keep  trying  to  think  in 
side." 

"  Think  inside ! "  criecj  the  foolish  fellow,  beginning 
now  to  pull  Roxy's  hand  to  signify  that  he  wanted  to  go, 
and  saying,  "  See  how  nice !  "  as  he  pointed  to  the  flags 
suspended  over  the  street. 

*  This  orthography  best  represents  the  common  pronunciation  of  the 
nams  among  the  village  people.  It  rhymes  exactly  with  the  word 
"  bonnet." 


6  ROX7. 

"  He  is  very  fond  of  red,"  exclaimed  Roxy, 

"  You're  better  than  most  people,  Eoxy.  They'd  be 
ashamed  to  take  anybody  that  was — was — simple — you 
know,  around  with  them." 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Roxy,  in  surprise.  "  I  think  Bobo  will 
always  be  one  of  those  '  little  ones '  that  are  mentioned 
in  the  Bible.  He  don't  know  any  harm,  and  1  won't  let 
him  learn  any.  I  could  hardly  live  without  him."  Then 
she  added  in  a  lower  tone:  "I  used,  to  feel  a  little 
ashamed  of  him  sometimes  when  people  laughed.  But 
that  was  a  very  bad  feeling,  I  am  sure.  Good  Bobo  ! " 

"  Good  Bobo  1 "  he  chuckled,  still  pulling  at  Roxy'a 
hand  until  she  had  to  go  on,  Bobo  expressing  his  pleasure 
whenever  they  passed  beneath  the  flags.  Going  through 
the  crowd  of  people  in  holiday  dress,  who  were  slaking 
their  thirst  at  the  town  pump — the  handle  of  which  had 
no  rest — they  turned  at  last  into  the  principal  street  run 
ning  toward  the  river.  The  village  was  chiefly  built  upon 
the  second  bank  or  terrace.  The  street  led  them  down  to 
the  lower  bank,  which  was  thinly  occupied  by  one  or  two 
hay  warehouses  and  some  dilapidated  dwellings.  This 
part  of  the  town  had  once  been  in  F  fair  way  to  take  the 
lead  on  account  of  its  proximity  to  the  landing,  but  in  the 
great  flood  of  1832  the  river  had  quite  submerged  it, 
rising  almost  to  the  height  of  the  rooms  on  the  second 
floor,  and  floating  away  one  or  two  buildings.  The  possi 
bility  of  a  repetition  of  this  calamity  had  prevented  the 
erection  of  new  houses  on  this  level,  and  some  of  the 
better  ones  had  been  given  up  by  their  owners,  so  that 
now  this  part  of  the  town  was  the  domain  of  fishermen, 
boatmen,  and  those  poor  people  who,  having  always  to 
struggle  to  keep  the  soul  in  the  body,  are  glad  to  get  any 
shelter  in  which  to  keep  the  body  itself.  The  fewness  of 


THE  BARBECUE.  7 

their  chattels  made  removals  easy,  and  since  they  were, 
most  of  them,  amphibious  creatures,  they  had  no  morbid 
dread  of  a  freshet.  Several  of  the  better  class,  too,  had 
held  on  to  their  rose-embowered  homes  on  this  lovely 
river-bank,  declaring  their  belief  that  "  the  flood  of  '32  " 
had  deepened  the  channel  of  the  river,  so  that  there  waf 
now  no  danger. 

But  this  lower  bank  seemed  all  the  more  beautiful  tc 
Roxy  and  Bobo  that  there  were  so  few  houses  on  it.  The 
fences  for  the  most  part  had  not  been  rebuilt  after  the 
flood,  so  that  there  was  a  broad  expanse  of  greensward. 
Their  path  took  them  along  the  river-bank,  and  to  Roxy 
the  wide  river  was  always  a  source  of  undefined  joy. 

Following  the  hurrying  squads  of  boys  and  men,  and 
the  track  of  wagons,  they  came  at  last  into  the  forest  of 
primeval  beech  that  stretched  away  for  a  mile  above  the 
town,  on  this  lower  flat  bordering  the  river.  Here  were 
not  such  beech-trees  as  grow  on  the  rocky-hills  of  New 
England,  stunted  in  height  and  with  a  divided  trunk. 
These  great  trees,  having  a  deep  and  fertile  soil,  push 
their  trunks  in  stately  columns  heavenward,  sending 
forth,  everywhere,  slender  lateral  limbs  that  droop  soon 
after  leaving  the  trunk,  then  recover  themselves  and  droop 
a  little  once  more  at  the  distant  tips,  almost  making  Ho 
garth's  line.  The  stillness  of  the  deep  shade  was  broken 
now  by  the  invasion  of  busy  men  and  idle  boys ;  there 
were  indescribable  cries  ;  the  orders,  advice,  and  jokes 
shouted  from  one  to  another,  had  a  sound  as  of  desecra 
tion.  Here  a  table  was  being  spread,  set  in  the  form  of  a 
hollow  square  to  accommodate  a  thousand  people  ;  in  an 
other  place  hundreds  of  great  loaves  of  bread  were  being 
cut  into  slices  by  men  with  sharp  knives. 

All  of  this  pleased  Bobo,  but  when  at  last  Roxy  took 


8  EOXT. 

him  to  the  pit,  thirty  feet  long,  over  which  half  a  lozcn 
oxen  split  in  halves  we.ro  undergoing  the  process  called 
barbecuing,  he  was  greatly  excited.  A  great  fire  had 
been  kept  burning  in  this  trench  during  the  night,  and 
now  the  bottom,  six  feet  below  the  surface,  was  covered 
with  a  bed  of  glowing  coals.  As  the  beeves  over  this  fire 
were  turned  from  time  to  time,  they  kept  up  a  constant 
hissing,  as  such  a  giant's  broil  must ;  and  this  sound  with 
the  intense  heat  terrified  the  lad. 

He  was  better  pleased  when  Roxy  led  him  away  to  a 
tree  where  a  thrifty  farmer  was  selling  ginger-cakes  and 
cider,  and  spent  all  her  money — five  old-fashioned  "  cop 
pers  " — in  buying  for  him  a  glass  of  cider  which  sold  for 
five  cents,  with  a  scolloped  ginger-cake  thrown  in. 

But  now  the  drum  and  fife  were  heard,  and  Roxy  could 
plainly  see  a  procession  of  Whigs  from  the  country  com 
ing  down  the  hill  in  the  rear  of  the  village.  Others  wero 
coming  by  the  other  roads  that  led  into  the  town.  The 
crowd  of  idlers  who  scattered  about  the  grove  started 
pell-mell  for  the  village,  where  all  of  these  companies,  in 
wagons  and  on  horseback,  were  to  be  formed  into  one 
grand  procession. 

But  Roxy  took  pains  to  secure  for  Bobo  a  perch  on  a 
fence-corner  at  the  end  of  the  lane  by  which  the  wood 
was  entered.  When  at  last  the  procession  came,  the  poor 
fellow  clapped  his  hands  at  sight  of  the  wagons  with  log- 
cabins  and  great  barrels  of  "  hard  cider  "  on  them.  Every 
waving  banner  gave  him  pleasure,  and  the  drum  and  fife 
set  him  in  an  ecstasy.  When  the  crowd  cheered  for 
Harrison  and  Tyler,  he  did  not  fail  to  join  in  the  shout 
The  party  of  country  boys  who  had  come  over  the  hill  in 
the  morning,  observing  the  delight  of  the  poor  fellow, 
began  to  make  sport  of  him,  calling  him  an  idiot,  and 


THE  BARBECUE.  9 

quizzing  him  with  puzzling  questions,  thus  drawing  the 
attention  of  the  crowd  to  Bobo,  who  sat  on  the  fence,  and 
to  -Roxy,  who  stood  by,  and  tried  in  vain  to  shield  him 
from  the  mockery. 

Happily,  about  that  time  the  procession  halted  on  ac 
count  of  some  difficulty  in  turning  an  angle  with  the  long 
wagon  which  held  the  twenty-five  allegorical  young  girls 
from  Posey  township,  who  represented  the  two  dozen 
states  of  the  Union,  with  a  plump  Hoosier  Goddess  of 
Liberty  presiding  over  them.  It  happened  that  in  the 
part  of  the  procession  which  halted  opposite  to  Bobo's 
perch  on  the  fence,  was  Mark  Bonamy,  who  was  quite  an 
important  figure  in  the  procession.  His  father — Colonel 
Bonamy — had  been  a  member  of  Congress,  arid  as  a  Whig 
BOH  of  a  Democratic  father  of  such  prominence,  the  young 
man  of  twenty-one  was  made  much  of.  Beckoned  the 
most  promising  young  man  in  the  county,  he  was  to-day 
to  declaim  his  maiden  speech  before  the  great  audience  at 
the  barbecue.  But  being  a  politician,  already  ambitious 
for  office,  he  chose  not  to  ride  in  the  carriage  with  tho 
"  orators  of  the  day,"  but  on  his  own  horse  among  the 
young  men,  to  whose  good- will  he  must  look  for  his  poli 
tical  success.  The  boys  perched  on  the  "  rider  "  of  the 
rail-fence  were  now  asking  Bobo  questions,  to  which  the 
simple  fellow  only  gave  answer  by  echoing  the  last  words ; 
and  seeing  the  flush  of  pain  on  Roxy's  face  at  the  laugh 
ter  thus  excited,  Mark  called  out  to  the  boy  to  let  Bobo 
alone. 

"  It  don't  matter,"  replied  the  boy ;  "  he's  only  a  fool, 
anyhow,  if  he  is  named  Bonaparte." 

At  this  the  other  boys  tittered,  but  young  Bonamy 
wheeled  his  hcrse  out  of  the  line,  and,  seizing  Bobo's 
chief  toi  mentor  by  the  collar  of  his  roundabout,  gave  him 


10  ROXT. 

a  vigorous  shaking,  and  then  dropped  him  trembling  witli 
terror  to  the  ground.  His  comrades,  not  wishing  to  meet 
the  same  punishment,  leaped  down  upon  the  other  side  of 
the  fence  and  dispersed  into  the  crowd. 

"  Thank  yon,  Mark,"  said  Roxy. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  answered  Mark,  with  Western 
unconventionally.  He  tried  to  look  unconscious  as  ho 
again  took  his  place  in  the  ranks  with  reddened  face,  and 
the  same  crowd  that  had  laughed  at  the  ridicule  put  upon 
Bobo  now  cheered  Mark  for  punishing  his  persecutor. 
Even  Bobo  showed  satisfaction  at  the  boy's  downfall. 

The  Whig  leaders  of  1840  roasted  beeves  in  order  to 
persuade  the  independent  voters  to  listen  to  arguments  on 
the  tariff;  they  washed  down  abstruse  reasonings  about 
the  United  States  Bank  with  hard  cider  ;  and  by  good 
feeding  persuaded  the  citizens  to  believe  in  internal  im 
provement.  But  in  order  to  the  success  of  such  a  plan,  it 
was  necessary  that  the  speeches  should  corne  first.  The 
procession,  therefore,  was  marched  to  the  stand ;  the 
horsemen  dismounted  ;  the  allegorical  young  ladies,  who 
represented  sovereign  states  dressed  in  white  muslin,  took 
places  on  the  stand ;  and  most  of  the  other  people  seated 
themselves  on  the  benches  in  front,  while  the  drums  and 
fifes  were  played  on  the  platform,  where  also  were  ranged 
the  speakers  and  some  ornamental  figures — an  ex-Con 
gressman,  a  colonel  of  the  war  of:  1812,  and  a  few  linger 
ing  veterans  of  the  Revolution,  who  sat  near  the  front, 
that  their  gray  hairs,  solitary  arms,  and  wooden  legs  might 
be  the  irore  conspicuous. 

Since  Mark  Bonamy's  interference  in  her  behalf,  Tioxy 
had  rapidly  elevated  the  young  man  into  a  hero.  Sha 
cared  nothing  whatever  about  banks  or  tariffs,  or  internal 
improvements,  but  now  she  was  eager  to  hear  Mark  make 


TEE  BARBECUE.  tl 

his  speech  For  when  an  enthusiastic  young  girl  cornea 
to  admire  a  man  for  one  thing,  she  straightway  sets  about 
finding  other  reasons  for  admiration. 

Mark  was  sent  to  the  front  to  make  the  opening  speech, 
upon  which  one  of  the  young  men  got  up  on  a  bench  in 
the  back  part  of  the  audience  and  cried  :  "  Three  cheers 
for  Bonamy  !  "  The -grateful  Roxy  was  pleased  with  this 
tribute  to  her  hero,  whose  triumph  seemed  somewhat  to 
be  her  own.  Bobo  recognized  his  deliverer  and  straight 
way  pointed  his  finger  at  Mark,  saying  to  Boxy : 

"  Looky,  Roxy,  looky  there  !  " 

Indeed,  she  had  much  trouble  to  keep  him  from  point 
ing  and  talking  throughout  Mark's  speech. 

In  Koxy's  estimation  the  speech  was  an  eloquent  one. 
There  were  no  learned  discussions  of  banks  and  tariffs,  no 
exhaustive  treatment  of  the  question  of  the  propriety  of 
internal  improvements  by  the  general  government — all 
of  these  questions  were  to  be  handled  by  Judge  Wool, 
who  was  double-shotted  with  statistics.  Mark  Bonamy's 
speech  was  not  statesman-like.  It  was  all  the  more  popu 
lar  for  that.  He  had  the  advantage,  to  begin  with,  of  a 
fine  presence.  His  large,  well- formed  body,  his  health 
ful  handsome  countenance,  his  clear  eye,  and  the  general 
look  of  quick  intelligence  about  him,  and  a  certain  air  of 
good-fellowship  won  upon  the  audience,  even  while  the 
young  man  stood  with  flushed  face  waiting  for  the  cheer 
ing  to  subside.  He  did  not  lack  self-possession,  and  his 
speech  was  full  of  adroit  appeals  to  national  pride  and  to 
party  spirit.  He  made  some  allusions  to  the  venerable 
soldiers  who  sat  by  him  and  to  their  comrades  who  slum 
bered  in  their  bloody  graves  on  the  hard-fought  fields  -of 
Bunker  Hill  and  Brandywine,  and  Germantown  and 
Trenton.  He  brought  forth  rounds  of  cheers  by  his  re 


18  ROXY. 

marks  on  Harrison's  log-cabin.  Measured  by  the  applause 
lie  gained  it  was  the  best  speech  of  the  day.  A  critic 
might  have  said  that  many  of  the  most  telling  points  were 
unfairly  taken,  but  a  critic  has  no  place  at  a  barbecue. 
How  else  could  Roxy  judge  of  such  a  speech  but  by  the 
effect  \ 

Very  few  oi  the  voters  were  able  to  follow  Judge 
"Wool's  argument  against  the  veto  of  the  Bank  Bill  and 
the  removal  of  the  deposits,  and  in  favor  of  the  adoption 
of  a  protective  tariff  that  should  save  the  country  from 
the  jaws  of  the  British  lion.  But  the  old  heads  declared 
it  a  "  mighty  weighty  "  argument,  and  the  young  ones, 
feeling  its  heaviness,  assented.  After  some  stirring 
speeches  by  more  magnetic  men,  there  was  music  by  the 
drum  and  fife,  and  then  the  hungry  crowd  surrounded  the 
tables,  on  which  there  was  little  else  but  bread  and  the 
barbecued  meat. 


CHAPTER  IL 

AFTER   THE  FEAST. 

WHEN  Roxy  wended  her  way  home  that  afternoon  she 
found  the  streets  full  of  people,  many  of  whom  had  not 
iimited  their  potations  to  hard  cider.  Flem  Giddings, 
whose  left  arm  had  been  shot  away  while  he  was  ram 
ming  a  cannon  at  a  Fourth  of  July  celebration,  was  very 
anxious  to  fight,  but  even  his  drunken  companions  were 
too  chivalrous  to  fight  with  a  one-armed  man.  So  the 
poor  cripple  went  round  vainly  defying  every  man  he 
met,  daring  each  one  to  fight,  and  declaring  that  he 
"  could  lick  any  two-fisted  coward  in  town,  by  thunder 
and  lightning  ! "  A  little  further  on,  big  Wash  Jones  kept 
staggering  up  to  plucky  little  Dan  McCrea,  declaring  that 
Dan  was  a  coward.  But  Dan,  who  was  not  quite  so 
drunk,  was  unwilling  to  strike  Wash  until  at  last  the  latter 
slapped  Dan  in  the  face,  upon  which  the  fiery  little  fellow 
let  his  hard  fist  fly,  doubling  the  big  man  against  a  wall. 
Roxy,  terrified  at  the  disorder,  was  hurrying  by  at  that 
moment ;  she  saw  the  blow  and  the  fall  of  the  bleeding 
man,  and  she  uttered  a  little  startled  cry.  Forgetting 
herself  and  Bobo,  the  excited  girl  pushed  through  the 
crowd  and  undertook  to  lift  up  the  fallen  champion. 
Dan  looked  ashamed  of  his  blow  and  the  rest  crowding 
round  felt  cowed  when  Roxy,  with  tears  on  her  face> 
said: 


14  ROXT. 

"What  do  you  stand  by  for  and  let  drunken  men 
fight?  Come,  put  poor  Wash  on  his  horse  and  send  him 
home." 

The  men  were  quick  enough  now  to  lift  up  the  sot 
and  help  him  into  his  saddle.  It  was  notorious  that  Wash 
could  hardly  be  so  drunk  that  he  could  not  ride.  He 
balanced  himself  in  the  saddle  with  difficulty,  and  the 
horse,  who  had  learned  to  adapt  himself  to  his  reeling 
burden,  swayed  from  side  to  side. 

"  Psh-shaw  ! "  stuttered  the  rider  as  the  blood  trickled 
upon  his  mud-bespattered  clothes,  "aint  I  a-a-a  purty 
sight  ?  To  go  home  to  my  wife  lookin'  this  a-way !  " 

Whereupon  he  began  to  wpep  in  a  maudlin  fashion  and 
ihe  men  burst  into  a  guffaw,  Jim  Peters  declaring  that  he 
'lowed  Wash  would  preach  his  own  funeral  sermon  when 
he  was  dead.  But  Roxy  went  home  crying.  For  she 
was  thinking  of  the  woman  whose  probable  sufferings  she 
measured  by  her  own  sensibilities.  And  the  men  stood 
looking  after  her,  declaring  to  one  another  that  she  was 
"a  odd  thing,  to  be  sure." 

AVhen  Roxy  had  passed  the  pump  on  her  return,  and 
had  come  into  the  quieter  part  of  the  .village,  Bobo,  who 
had  been  looking  at  the  flags,  perceived  that  she  was  cry 
ing.  He  went  directly  in  front  of  her,  and  taking  out 
his  handkerchief,  began  eagerly  to  wipe  away  the  tears, 
saying  in  pitiful  tones,  "No,  no!  Roxy  mustn't  cry! 
Roxy  mustn't  cry ! "  But  this  sympathy  only  made  the 
tears  flow  faster  than  ever,  while  BJUO  still  wiped  them 
away,  entreating  her  not  to  cry,  until  at  last  he  began  to 
cry  himself,  upon  which  Roxy,  by  a  strong  effort,  controlled 
herself. 

The  house  in  which  Roxy  Adams  lived  was  one  of  the 
original  log- build  ings  of  the  village.  It  stood  near 


AFTER  THE  FEAST.  15 

the  edge  of  the  common,  and  some  distance  from  the 
large,  four-chimneyed  brick  which  was  the  home  of  the 
half-witted  Bobo,  who  was  first  cousin  to  Roxy  on  the 
mother's  side.  Roxy's  father  was  the  principal  ^shoe 
maker  of  the  village  ;  he  could  make  an  excellent  pair  of 
"  rights  and  lefts,"  and  if  the  customer  insisted  on  having 
them,  he  would  turn  out  the  old-fashioned  "  evens" — 
boots  that  would  fit  either  foot,  and  which,  by  change 
from  one  foot  to  another,  could  be  made  to  wear  more 
economically.  The  old  shoemaker  was  also  quite  remarka 
ble  for  the  stubborn  and  contentious  ability  with  which 
he  discussed  all  those  questions  that  agitated  the  village 
intellect  of  the  time. 

When  Roxy  passed  in  at  the  gate  with  Bobo,  she  found 
her  father  sitting  under  the  apple-tree  by  the  door.  He 
gave  her  a  word  of  reproof  for  her  tardiness — not  that 
she  deserved  it,  but  that,  like  other  people  of  that  day,  he 
deemed  it  necessary  to  find  fault  with  young  people  as 
often  as  possible.  Roxy  took  the  rebuke  in  silence,  has 
tening  to  milk  the  old,  black  and  white,  spotted  muley* 
cow,  whose  ugly,  hornless  head  was  visible  over  the  back 
gate,  where  she  stood  in  the  alley,  awaiting  her  usual  pail 
of  bran.  Then  supper  had  to  be  cooked  in  the  wide- 
mouthed  fire-place.  The  corn-dodgers — or,  as  they  called 
them  on  the  Indiana  side  of  the  river,  the  "  pones  " — were 
tossed  from  hand  to  hand  until  thoy  had  assumed  the 
correct  oval  shape.  Then  they  were  leposited  in  the  iron 
ekillet  already  heated  on  the  fire,  coals  were  put  beneath, 

«  *  This  word,  like  many  of  our  most  curious  and  widely  prevalent 
Americanisms,  is  not  in  the  dictionaries.  In  parts  of  New  York  State 
a  hornless  cow  is  called  a  "  mully  "  cow.  Scotch  immigrants  use  the 
word  in  this  form  and  say  that  the  cows  in  the  Island  of  Mull  are 
hornless.  At  the  West  "  mully  "  has  changed  to  "  muley." 


16  ROXY. 

xnd  a  shovelful  of  hot  coals  heaped  on  the  lid — or  "led," 
as  the  Hoosiers  called  it,  no  doubt  from  a  mistaken 
lerivation  of  the  word.  The  coffee  was  ground,  and 
after  being  mixed  with  white  of  egg  to  "settle"'  it. 
was  put  into  the  pot;  the  singing  iron  tea-kettle  hang* 
ing  on  the  crane  paid  its  tribute  of  hot  water,  and 
then  the  coffee-pot  was  set  on  the  trivet,  over  the  live 
coals. 

By  the  time  the  tavern  bell  announced  the  arrival  of  tha 
hour  for  eating,  Roxy  had  called  her  father  to  supper, 
and  Bobo,  who  found  no  place  so  pleasant  as  Roxy's 
home,  sat  down  to  supper  with  them.  While  they  ate, 
they  could  see  through  the  front  door  troops  of  horsemen, 
who,  warned  by  the  tavern  bell,  had  taken  their  last 
drink  in  honor  of  the  hero  of  Tippecanoe,  and  started 
homeward  in  various  stages  of  inebriety,  some  hurrahing 
insanely  for  Harrison  and  Tyler,  many  hurrahing  for 
nothing  in  particular. 

The  pitiful  and  religious  soul  of  Roxy  saw  not  a  parti 
cle  of  the  ludicrous  side  of  this  grotesque  exhibition  of 
humanity  in  voluntary  craze.  She  saw — and  exaggerated, 
perhaps — the  domestic  sorrow  at  the  end  of  their  several 
roads,  and  she  saw  them  as  a  procession  of  lost  souls  rid 
ing  pell-mell  into  a  perdition  which  she  had  learned  to 
regard  as  a  place  of  literal  fiery  torment. 

Is  it  strange,  therefore,  that  when  Mr.  Whittaker,  the 
Presbyterian  minister,  came  in  after  supper,  she  should 
ask  him  earnestly  and  abruptly  why  God,  who  was  full 
of  love,  should  make  this  world,  in  which  there  was  so 
awful  a  preponderance  of  sorrow  ?  It  was  in  vain  that* 
the  minister  tried  to  answer  her  by  shifting  the  responsi 
bility  to  the  shoulders  of  man,  who  committed  sin  in 
Adam, "  the  federal  head  of  the  race ;  "  it  was  in  vain 


AFTER  THE  FEAST.  17 

that  he  took  refuge  in  the  sovereignty  of  God  and  the 
mystery  of  His  existence.  The  girl  saw  only  that  God 
brought  multitudes  of  people  into  life  whose  destiny 
was  eternal  sorrow  and  whose  destiny  must  have  been 
known  to  Him  from  the  beginning.  She  did  not  once 
venture  to  doubt  the  goodness  of  God ;  but  her  spirit 
kept  on  wounding  itself  with  its  own  questioning,  and 
Mr.  Whittaker,  with  all  his  logic,  could  give  her  no 
relief.  For  feeling  often  evades  logic,  be  it  never  so  dis 
criminating.  Whittaker,  however,  kept  up  the  conversa 
tion,  glad  of  any  pretext  for  talk  with  Koxy.  The  shoe 
maker  was  pleased  to  see  him  puzzled  by  the  girl's  clev 
erness  ;  but  he  seemed  to  side  with  Whittaker. 

It  was  not  considered  proper  at  that  day  for  a  minister 
to  spend  so  much  time  in  the  society  of  the  unconverted 
as  Whittaker  did  in  that  of  Roxy's  father;  but  the  minis 
ter  found  him,  in  spite  of  his  perversity,  a  most  interesting 
sinner.  Whittaker  liked  to  sharpen  his  wits  against  those 
of  the  shoe-maker,  who  had  read  and  thought  a  good  deal 
in  an  eccentric  way.  The  conversation  was  specially 
pleasant  when  the  daughter  listened  to  their  discussion, 
for  the  minister  was  not  yet  quite  twenty-five  years  of  age, 
and  what  young  man  of  twenty-five  is  insensible  to  the 
pleasure  of  talking,  with  a  bright  girl  of  seventeen  for  a 
listener? 

When  the  minister  and  her  father  seated  themselves 
under  an  apple-tree,  it  cost  Roxy  a  pang  to  lose  the  pleas 
ure  of  hearing  them  talk ;  but  Bobo  was  exacting,  and 
she  sat  down  to  amuse  him  with  a  monotonous  play  of 
her  own  devising,  which  consisted  in  rolling  a  marble 
round  the  tea-tray.  Whittaker  was  not  quite  willing 
to  lose  his  auditor;  he  asked  Mr.  Adams  several 
times  if  the  aight  air  was  not  bad,  but  the  shoe-maker 


18  BOXY. 

was  in  one  of  his  perverse  moods,  and  refused  to  take  the 
hint. 

At  last  the  time  came  for  Eoxy  to  lead  Bobo  home,  and 
as  she  came  out  the  door,  she  heard  her  father  say,  in  his 
most  disputatious  tone : 

"  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Whittaker,  Henry  the  Eighth  was  the 
greatest  monarch  England  ever  had.  lie  put  down 
popery." 

"  But  how  about  the  women  whose  heads  he  cut  off  ?  " 
asked  the  preacher,  laughing. 

"  That  was  a  mere  incident — a  mere  incident  in  his 
glorious  career,  sir,"  said  the  other,  earnestly.  "  Half-a- 
dozen  women's  heads,  more  or  less,  are  nothing  to  what 
he  did  for  civil  and  religious  liberty." 

"But  suppose  one  of  the  heads  had  been  Eoxy's  ?  " 
queried  Whittaker,  watching  Eoxy  as  she  unlatched  the 
gate. 

"  That's  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  persisted  Adams. 
"  Eoxy's  head  is  as  light  as  the  rest." 

Eoxy  was  a  little  hurt  by  her  father's  speech  ;  but  she 
knew  his  love  of  contradiction,  and  neither  she  nor  anv 
one  else  could  ever  be  quite  sure  when  he  was  in  earnest. 
His  most  solemn  beliefs  were  often  put  forth  in  badinage, 
and  he  delighted  to  mask  his  jests  under  the  most 
vehement  assertions.  I  doubt  if  he  himself  ever  quite 
knew  the  difference  between  his  "irony  and  his  'convio. 
tions. 

But  after  Eoxy  had  gone  the  father  relented  a  little. 
He  confessed  that  the  girl's  foolishness  was  different 
from  that  of  other  girls.  But  it  was  folly  none  the  less. 
For  if  a  girl  isn't  a  fool  about  fine  clothes  and  beaux  and 
all  that,  she's  sure  to  make  up  for  it  by  being  a  fool  about 
religion.  Here  he  paused  for  Whittaker  to  reply,  but  he 


AFTER  THE  FEAST.  19 

was  silent,  and  Adams  could  not  see  in  the  darkness 
whether  or  not  he  was  rendered  uncomfortable  by  his  re 
mark.  So,  urged  on  by  the  demon  of  contradiction,  ho 
proceeded  : 

"  Little  or  big,  young  or  old,  women  are  aU  fools.  But 
lloxy  had  it  rather  different  from  the  rest.  It  struck  in 
with  her.  She  was  only  ten  years  old  when  old  Seth  Lum- 
ley  was  sent  to  jail  for  stealing  hogs,  and  his  wife  and 
three  little  children  were  pretty  nigh  starving.  That  lit 
tle  fool  of  a  Roxy  picked  blackberries  three  Saturdays 
hand-running  and  brought  them  into  town  three  miles, 
and  sold  them  and  gave  all  the  money  to  the  old  woman. 
But  the  blackberry-briers  tore  more  off  her  clothes  than 
the  berries  came  to.  The  little  s;oose  did  it  because  she 

O 

believed  the  Bible  and  all  that  about  doing  good  to  the 
poor  and  so  on.  She  believes  the  Bible  yet.  She's  the 
only  person  in  town  that's  fool  enough  to  think  that  all 
the  stuff  you  preachers  say  is  true  and  meant  to  be  carried 
out.  The  rest  of  you  don't  believe  it — at  least  nobody 
tries  to  do  these  things.  They  were  just  meant  to  sound 
nicely  in  church,  you  know." 

Again  he  paused  to  give  Whittaker  a  chance  to  contra 
dict. 

"  I  tell  you,"  he  went  on,  "  I  don't  believe  in  over-pioua 
folks.  Koxy  would  take  the  shoes  off  her  feet  to  give 
them  to  some  lazy  fool  that  ought  to  work.  She  will  take 
care  of  Bobo,  for  instance.  That  gives  Bobo's  mother 
time  to  dress  and  run  'round.  Now  what's  the  use  in 
Roxy's  being  such  a  fool  ?  It's  all  because  you  preachers 
harp  on  self-denial  so  much.  So  it  goes.  The  girls  that 
are  not  fools  are  made  fools  by  you  preachers." 

Adams  had  not  meant  to  be  so  rude,  but  Whittaker'g 
meekness jindSr  his  stinging  speeches  was  very  provoking 


20  ROX7 

Having  set  out  to  irritate  his  companion  he  became  irri 
tated  at  his  own  failure  and  was  carried  further  than  he 
intended.  Whittaker  thought  best  not  to  grow  angry 
with  this  last  remark,  but  laughed  at  it  as  pleasantry. 
The  old  shoe-maker's  face,  however,  did  not  relax.  Ho 
only  looked  sullen  and  fierce  as  though  he  had  seriously 
intended  to  insult  his  guest. 

u  Preachers  and  talking  cobblers  are  a  demoralizing  set, 
I  grant,"  said  Whittaker,  rising  to  go. 

"  It  is  the  chief  business  of  a  talking  cobbler  to  pro 
tect  people  from  the  influence  of  preachers,"  answered 
Adams. 

Suspecting  the  growing  annoyance  of  his  companion, 
Adams  relented  and  began  to  cast  about  for  some  words 
with  which  to  turn  his  savage  and  quite  insincere  speech 
into  pleasantry.  But  the  conversation  was  interrupted 
just  then  by  the  racket  of  two  snare-drums,  and  one  bass- 
drum,  and  the  shrill  screaming  of  a  fife.  The  demonstra 
tions  of  the  day  were  being  concluded  by  a  torch-light 
procession.  Both  Whittaker  and  Adams  were  relieved 
by  the  interruption,  which  gave  the  minister  a  chance  to 
Bay  good-night  and  which  gave  Adams  the  inscriptions  to 
read.  The  first  one  was  a  revolving  transparency  which 
had  upon  its  first  side  "  Out  of;"  then  upon  the  second 
was  the  picture  of  a  log-cabin ;  on  the  third,  the  words 
"  into  the  ;  "  on  the  fourth,  a  rude  drawing  of  the  "  presi 
dential  mansion,"  as  we  republicans  call  it ;  so  that  it  read 
to  all  beholders:  "Out  of  a  log-cabin  into  the  White 
House."  There  were  many  others  denouncing  the  admin 
istration,  calling  the  president  a  "  Dutchman,"  and  recit 
ing  the  military  glories  of  the  hero  of  Tippecanoe.  Of 
course  the  changes  were  rung  upon  "  hard  cider,"  which 
was  supposed  to  be  General  Harrison's  meat  a^id  drir/k 


AFTER  THE  FEAST.  21 

At  the  very  rear  of  the  procession  came  a  company  oi 
young  fellows  with  a  transparency  inscribed :  "  Foi 
Representative,  Mark  Bonamy  —  the  eloquent  young 
Whig." 

Meantime  Roxy  stood  upon  the  steps  of  her  aunt's 
house  with  Bobo,  who  was  transported  at  seeing  the,,  bright 
display.  She  herself  was  quite  pleased  with  the  inscrip 
tion  which  complimented  Mark. 

She  handed  little  Bonaparte  Hanks  over  to  his  mother, 
Baying, 

"  Here's  Bobo.  He's  been  a  good  boy.  He  saw  the 
torches,  Aunt  Henrietta." 

"  Saw  the  torches,  Aunt  Henrietta,"  said  the  lad,  for  ho 
had  lived  with  Roxy  until  he  had  come  to  style  his  mother 
as  she  did. 

Aunt  Henrietta  did  not  pay  much  attention  to  Bobo. 
She  sent  him  off  to  bed,  and  said  to  Roxy  : 

"  He  must  be  great  company  to  you,  Roxy.  I  like  to 
leave  him  with  you,  for  I  know  it  makes  you  happy. 
And  he  thinks  so  much  of  you." 

And  then,  when  Roxy  had  said  good-night  and  gone 
away  home,  Aunt  Henrietta  turned  to  Jemima,  her 
"  help,"  and  remarked,  with  great  benignity,  that  she  did 
not  know  what  that  poor,  motherless  girl  would  do  for 
society  and  enjoyment  if  it  were  not  for  Bo.  And  with 
this  placid  shifting  of  the  obligation  to  the  side  most  com 
fortable  to  herself,  Mrs.  Henrietta  Hanks  would  fain  have 
dismissed  the  subject.  But  social  distinctions  had  not  yet 
become  well  established  in  the  West,  and  Jemima,  who 
had  been  Mrs.  Hanks'  school-mate  in  childhood,  and  who 
Btill  called  hei  "  Henriette,"  was  in  the  habit  of  having 
her  "  say"  in  all  discussions. 

"  You  air  rale  kind,  Henriette,"  she  answered,  with  a 


22  ROXY. 

laugh ;  "  it  must  be  a  favor  to  Roxy  to  slave  herself  for 
that  poor,  simple  child.  And  as  he  don't  hardly  know 
one  hand  from  t'other,  he  must  be  lots  of  comp'ny  for  the 
smartest  girl  in  Luzerne,"  and  Jemima  Dumbleton  laughed 
aloud. 

Mrs.  Hanks  would  have  been  angry,  if  it  had  not  been 
that  to  get  angry  was  troublesome — the  more  so  that  the 
indispensable  Jemima  was  sure  to  keep  her  temper  and 
get  the  best  of  any  discussion.  So  the  mistress  only 
flushed  a  little,  and  replied  : 

"  Don't  give  me  any  impertinence,  Jemima.  You 
haven't  finished  scrubbing  the  kitchen  floor  yet." 

"  I'm  much  obleeged,"  chuckled  Jemima,  half  aloud, 
"  it's  a  great  privilege  to  scrub  the  floor.  I'll  have  to  git 
right  down  on  my  knees  to  express  my  gratitude,"  and 
down  she  knelt  to  resume  her  scouring  of  the  floor,  sing 
ing  as  she  worked,  with  more  vigor  than  melody,  the 
words  of  an  old  chorus  : 

**  Oh,  bender  me  not,  ferl  wiU  serve  the  Lord, 
And  I'll  praise  Him  when  I  die." 

As  Koxy  walked  home  beneath  the  black  locust-trees 
that  bordered  the  sidewalk,  she  had  an  uncomfortable 
sense  of  wrong.  She  knew  her  aunt  too  well  to  hope  for 
any  thanks  for  her  pains  with  Bobo ;  but  she  could  not 
quite  get  over  expecting  them.  She  had  taken  up  the 
care  of  the  boy  because  she  saw  him  neglected,  and  be 
cause  he  was  one  of  "  the  Bible  little  ones,"  as  she  phrased 
it.  Her  attentions  to  him  had  their  spring  in  pure  benev 
olence  and  religious  devotion  ;  but  now  she  began  to  ret 
buke  herself  sternly  for  "  seeking  the  praise  of  men." 
She  offered  an  earnest  prayer  tbat  this,  her  sin,  might  be 


AFTER  THE  FEAST.  23 

forgiven,  and  she  resolved  to  be  more  kind  than  ever  to 
Bobo. 

As  she  entered  the  path  that  led  out  of  the  street  to  the 
edge  of  the  common  in  which  stood  their  house  and  gar 
den-patch,  she  met  the  minister  going  home.  He  paused 
a  moment  to  praise  her  for  her  self-denying  kindness  to 
hei  unfortunate  cousin,  then  wished  her  good-night,  and 
passed  on.  Spite  of  all  Koxy's  resolutions  against  caring 
for  the  praise  of  men,  she  found  the  appreciative  words 
very  sweet  in  her  ears  as  she  went  on  home  in  the  still 
ness  of  the  summer  night. 

When  she  came  to  the  house,  her  father  stood  by  the 
gate  which  led  into  the  yard,  already  reproaching  himself 
for  his  irascibility  and  his  almost  involuntary  rudeness  to 
Mr.  Whittaker ;  and  since  he  was  discordant  with  him 
self,  he  was  cross  with  Roxy. 

"  Much  good  you  will  ever  get  by  taking  care  of  Bobo," 
he  said.  "  Your  aunt  won't  thank  you,  or  leave  you  a 
shoe-string  when  she  dies." 

Roxy  did  not  reply,  but  went  off  to  bed  annoyed — not, 
however,  at  what  her  father  had  said  to  her.  She  was 
used  to  his  irritability,  and  she  knew,  besides,  that  if  she 
were  to  neglect  Bobo,  the  crusty  but  tender-hearted  father 
would  be  the  first  to  take  him  up.  But  from  his  mood 
she  saw  that  he  had  not  parted  pleasantly  with  Whittaker. 
And  as  she  climbed  the  stairs  she  thought  of  Whittaker's 
visit  and  wondered  whether  he  would  be  driven  away  by 
her  father's  harshness.  And  mingling  with  thoughts  of 
the  slender  form  of  Whittaker  in  her  imagination,  there 
came  thoughts  of  the  fine  presence  of  Mark  Bonamy,  and 
of  his  flowing  speech.  It  was  a  pleasant  world,  after  all. 
She  could  afford  to  put  out  of  memory  Aunt  Henrietta's 
ingratitude  and  her  father's  moods. 


24  ROX7. 

Mark,  on  his  part,  was  at  that  very  moment  drinking 
to  the  success  of  the  log-cabin  candidate,  and  if  Roxy 
could  have  seen  him  then,  the  picture  with  which  she 
pleased  herself  of  a  high-toned  and  chivalrous  young  man 
would  doubtless  have  lost  some  of  the  superfluous  color 
which  the  events  of  the  day  had  given  it. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   COUNTRY   HOE-DOWN. 

IT  was  some  weeks  after  the  barbecue  that  Mark  Boi.- 
amy,  now  a  Whig  candidate  for  representative  in  the 
Indiana  legislature,  set  out  to  electioneer.  He  was  ac 
companied  on  this  expedition  by  Major  Tom  Lathers, 
who  was  running  for  sheriff.  Both  the  young  politician 
and  the  old  one  had  taken  the  precaution  to  dress  them 
selves  in  country  jeans,  of  undyed  brown  wool,  commonly 
known  as  butternut.  Lathers  was  a  tall,  slim,  fibrous 
man,  whose  very  face  was  stringy.  He  sat  straight  up  on 
his  ravvboned,  bobtailed  horse  and  seemed  forever  looking 
off  into  vacancy,  like  a  wistful  greyhound.  Mark  had  not 
succeeded  in  toning  himself  quite  down  to  the  country 
standard.  He  did  his  best  to  look  the  sloven,  but  there 
was  that  in  his  handsome  face,  well-nourished  physique^ 
and  graceful  carriage  that  belied  his  butternut  clothes. 
He  was  but  masquerading  after  all.  But  Lathers  was  to 
homespun  born;  his  gaunt,  angular,  tendinous  figure, 
stepping  when  he  walked  as  an  automaton  might  when 
worked  by  cords  and  pulleys,  was  not  unbecomingly  clad 
in  brown  jeans  and  "stogy  "  boots. 

The  two  were  riding  now  toward  Tanner  Township,  the 
wildest  corner  of  the  county.  Here  on  the  head- waters 
of  Rocky  Fork  there  was  a  dance  appointed  for  this  very 
evening,  and  the  experienced  Lathers  had  scented  game. 

"I  tell  you  what,  Bonamy,  there's  nothing  like  hoe- 
downs  and  the  like.  Everybody  is  good-natured  at  a 


26  ROXT. 

dance.  I  went  to  church  last  Sunda)  —I  always  go  to 
church  when  there  is  an  election  coming  on.  People 
think  I  am  in  a  hopeful  state  and  the  like,  you  know, 
when  they  see  that,  and  they  vote  for  me  to  encourage 
me." 

Here  Lathers  gave  his  companion  a  significant  look 
from  his  small,  twinkling  gray  eyes  and  then  diving  into 
his  pocket  he  drew  forth  a  plug  of  tobacco  and  bit  off  a 
large  corner  of  it,  which  he  masticated  for  a  while  with 
all  the  energy  of  a  man  of  serious  purpose. 

"  You  see,"  he  proceeded,  "  a  man's  mind  is  always  on 
his  own  business  even  in  meeting  and  the  like,  at  least 
mine  is  when  I'm  running  for  anything.  Well,  I  heerd 
Whittaker  read  something  from  the  Apostle  Saul,  I  be 
lieve.  No,  I  ain't  jist  right  shore,  now.  Now  I  come  to 
think,  I  believe  he  said  it  was  from  the  first  apostle  to 
the  Corinthians,  an'  I  swear  I  ain't  well  'nough  up  in 
Bible  to  know  who  was  the  first  and  who  was  the  second 
apostle  to  the  Corinthians." 

Here  Lathers  spat  meditatively,  while  Mark  turned  his 
head  away. 

"Well,  never  mind.  It  was  either  Saul  or  Paul,  I 
think.  He  said  something  about  a  feast,  or  big  goin's-on 
and  the  like,  at  Jerusalem,  that  was  to  come  off  sometime 
shortly.  And  he  said  that  a  great  and  effectooal  door 
was  opened  to  him.  Well,  I  says  to  myself,  that  old  Saul 
— Saulomon  his  full  name  was,  I  reckon — understood  hia 
business  mighty  well.  He  took  folks  when  they  was 
a- bavin'  a  good  time  and  the  like.  Them  was  my  medi 
tations,  Mark,  in  the  house  of  the  Lord." 

And  Major  Lathers  stopped  to  laugh  and  wink  his  gray 
eyes  at  Mark. 

"  An'  when  I  heerd  they  was  a  good,  ole-fashioned  hoe- 


THE  COUNTRY  HOE-DOWN.  27 

down  over  onto  Kooky  Fork,  I  says  a  great  and  effect  Doal 
door — a  big  barn-door,  it  'peared  like — is  opened  to  me 
and  Mark  Bonainy.  Tanner  Township  is  rightly  Loco- 
foco,  but  if  you  show  your  purty  face  among  the  women 
folks,  and  I  give  the  men  a  little  sawder  and  the  like,  you 
know,  we'll  use  them  up  like  the  pilgrim  fathers  did  the 
British  on  Bunker  Hill  that  fourth  of  July." 

About  sunset  the  two  arrived  at  Kirtley's  double  cabin. 
Already  there  were  signs  of  the  oncoming  festivities. 

"Hello,  Old  Gid,"  said  Lathers,  who  knew  just  when 
familiarity  was  likely  to  win,  "  you  alive  yet,  you  old  sin 
ner  ?  How  air  you,  any  way  ?  It's  mighty  strange  you 
an'  me  haint  dead  and  done  fer,  after  all  we've  been 
through.  I  wish  I  was  half  as  hearty  as  you  look." 

"  Well,  Major,  is  that  air  you  ? "  grinned  Kirtley. 
"  Howdy,  ole  coon  ? "  and  he  reached  out  his  hand.  "  I'm 
middlin'  peart.  Come  over  this  way  to  get  some  votes,  1 
reckon  ?  'Taint  no  use.  Dernedest  set  of  Locos  over 
here  you  ever  see." 

"  Oh,  I  know  that.  I  tho't  Fd  come  along  and  shako 
hands  and  the  like  with  a  ole  friend,  and  quarrel  with 
you  about  Old  Hickory,  jist  for  fun.  You  always  hev  a 
bottle  of  good  whisky,  and  you  don't  kick  a  ole  military 
friend  out-doors  on  account  of  politics  and  the  like. 
Blam'd  if  I  don't  feel  more  at  home  when  I'm  inside 
your  door  than  I  do  in  ary  'nother  house  in  this  county. 
How's  the  ole  woman  and  that  doggoned  purty  girl  of 
joum?  I  was  afearcl  to  bring  Bonamy  along,  fer  fear 
she'd  make  a  fool  an'  the  like  out  of  him.  But  1  told  him 
you  was  a  pertic'ler  friend  of  his  father,  the  colonel,  and 
that  you'd  pertect  him." 

"Wai,"  said  Kirtley,  hesitating,  "I  wish  I  could  make 
you  comfortable.  But  the  folks  is  got  a  hoe-down  sot  fer 


28  ROXT. 

to-night,  an'  you-aL  wont  git  no  sleep  ef  yo  1  stop  c  vei 
here." 

"A  hoe-down!"  cried  Lathers,  with  feigned  surprise. 
"  Wai,  ef  I'd  knowed  that,  I'd  a  fixed  things  so  as  to  cornc 
to-morry  night,  seein'  as  I  want  to  have  a  square,  old-fash 
ioned  set-down  and  the  Ijke  with  you."  Here  he  pulled 
a  bottle  of  whisky  from  his  pocket  and  passed  it  to  Kirt- 
ley.  "But  next  to  a  talk  with  you,  I'd  enjoy  a  reel  with 
the  girls,  like  we  used  to  have  when  I  was  a  youngster." 
Saying  this,  Lathers  dismounted,  without  giving  Kirtley 
(who  was  taking  a  strong  pull  at  the  bottle)  time  to  object. 
But  Mark  hesitated. 

"  'Light,  Mr.  Bonamy,  'light,"  said  Kirtley  ;  "  ef  you 
kin  put  up  with  us  we  kin  with  you.  Come  right  in, 
gentlemen,  and  I'll  put  your  hosses  out." 

"  Pshaw !  "  said  Lathers,  "  let  me  put  out  my  own. 
Bonamy  and  me  knows  how  to  work  jist  as  well  as  you 
do.  You  Rocky  Fork  folks  is  a  little  stuck-up  and  the 
like,  Kirtley.  You  don't  know  it,  but  you  air.  Blam'd 
ef  you  haint,  now.  You'  think  they  haint  nobody  as  can 
do  real  tough  work  an'  sich  like  but  you.  Now  Bonamy, 
here,  was  brought  up  to  that  sort  of  thing,  and  as  fer  me, 
I  was  rocked  in  a  gum  stump." 

The  major  instinctively  spoke  more  improperly  even 
than  was  his  habit,  in  addressing  Kirtley  and  others  of  his 
kind,  though  Tom  Lather's  English  was  bad  enough  at 
any  time. 

The  old  man  grinned  at  the  flattery,  and  Lathers  passed 
the  bottle  again. 

An  hour  later  the  dancers  were  assembling ;  the  beds 
had  been  cleared  out  of  the  largest  room  in  the  cabin,  and 
the  fiddler — a  plump  and  reprobate-looking  man — wag 
tuning  his  instrument,  and  scratching  out  snatches  of  "  Ili 


THE  COUNTRY  HOE-DOW^.  29 


Betty  Martin  "  and  "  Billy  in  the  Lowgrounds  "  by 
of  testing  its  condition. 

Major  Lathers  went  jerking  and  bobbing  round  among 
the  guests,  but  Mark  was  now  the  leader.  Quick-witted 
and  adroit,  he  delighted  the  young  women,  and  by  shrewd 
flattery  managed  not  to  make  the  young  men  jealous.  lie 
ate  eagerly  of  the  potatoes  roasted  in  the  ashes,  which 
were  the  popular  "  refreshment."  He  danced  a  reel 
awkwardly  enough,  but  that  gave  him  a  chance  to  ask 
some  of  the  young  men  to  explain  it  to  him.  Major 
Lathers  knew  the  figure  well,  and  was  so  proud  of  it  that 
he  jerked  his  slender  legs  up  and  down  like  a  puppet  in 
all  the  earlier  dances.  Bonamy  might  have  captured  half 
the  votes  on  Rocky  Run,  if  there  had  been  no  Nancy 
Kirtley.  Nancy  was  at  first  detained  from  the  room  by 
her  household  cares,  but  it  was  not  in  Nancy's  nature  to 
devote  herself  long  to  the  kitchen  when  she  had  a  chance 
to  effect  the  capture  of  the  young  man  from  town.  About 
eight  o'clock,  when  the  dancing  had  been  going  on  an 
hour,  and  Bonamy  had  made  a  most  favorable  impression, 
he  observed  a  look  of  impatience  on  the  face  of  the  green 
country  girl  who  was  talking  with  him.  Turning  in  the 
direction  which  her  eyes  took,  he  saw  half-a-dozen  young 
men  gathered  about  a  young  woman  whom  he  had  not 
seen  before,  and  who  now  stood  with  her  back  to  him. 
lie  asked  his  companion  who  she  was. 

uOh!  that  air  plague-goned  Nance  Kirtley.  All  the 
boys  makes  fools  of  the  i  reel  yea  over  her.  She  likes  to 
make  a  fool  of  a  man.  You  better  look  out,  ole  hoss  !  5J 
said  she  with  a  polite  warning  to  Mark. 

Mark  was  curious  to  see  Nancy's  face,  but  he  could  not 
get  away  from  his  present  companion  without  rudeness. 
That  young  lady,  however,  had  less  delicacy.  For  whec 


30  ROXY. 

a  gawky  youth,  ambitious  to  cut  out  the  u  town  feller," 
came  up  with  "Sal,  take  a  reel  with  me?"  she  burst  into 
a  giggle,  and  handed  over  the  roast  potato  she  had  been 
eating  to  Bonamy,  saying,  "  Here,  feller,  hold  my  tater 
while  I  trot  a  reel  with  this  'ere  hoss." 

Taking  the  potato  as  he  was  bidden,  Mark  made  use  of 
his  liberty  to  seek  the  acquaintance  of  the  belle  of  Rocky 
Fork. 

Nancy  had  purposely  stationed  herself  with  her  back  to 
the  stranger  that  she  might  not  seem  to  seek  his  favor. 
On  his  first  approach  she  treated  him  stiffly  and  paid  more 
attention  than  ever  to  the  rude  jokes  of  her  country  beaux, 
though  she  was  in  a  flutter  of  flattered  vanity  from  the 
moment  in  which  she  saw  him  approaching.  Such  game 
did  not  come  in  her  way  more  than  once. 

Mark  on  his  part  was  amazed.  Such  a  face  as  hers 
would  have  been  observed  in  any  company,  but  such 
a  face  among  the  poor  whiteys  of  Rocky  Fork,  seemed  by 
contrast  miraculous.  There  was  no  fire  of  intellect  in  it ; 
no  inward  conflict  had  made  on  it  a  single  line.  It  was 
simply  a  combination  of  natural  symmetry,  a  clear,  rather 
Oriental  complexion  and  exuberant  healthfulness.  Feel 
ing  there  was — sensuousness,  vanity,  and  that  good-nature 
which  comes  of  self-complacency.  Nancy  Kirtley  was 
one  of  those  magnificent  animals  that  are  all  the  more 
magnificent  for  being  only  animals.  It  was  beauty  of 
the  sort  that  one  sees  sometimes  among  quadroons — the 
beauty  of  Circassian  women,  perhaps, — perfect  physical 
development,  undisturbed  and  uninformed  by  a  soul. 

From  the  moment  that  Mark  Bonamy  looked  upon  this 
uncultivated  girl  in  her  new  homespun  and  surrounded 
by  her  circle  of  hawbuck  admirers,  he  began  to  forget  all 
nbout  the  purpose  of  his  visit  to  Rocky  Run.  Major  TCOB 


THE  COUNTRY  HOE-DOWN.  31 

Lathery  as  ho  flung  himself  through  a  Virginia  reel  with 
a  gait  much  like  that  of  a  stringhalt  horse,  was  still  anx 
iously  watching  Bonamy,  and  he  mentally  concluded  that 
Mark  was  as  sure  to  scorch  his  wings  as  a  moth  that  had 
caught  sight  of  a  candle. 

"  Will  you  dance  the  next  reel  with  me  ? "  Mark  asked 
somewhat  eagerly  of  Nancy  Kirtley. 

"  Must  give  Jim  his  turn  first,"  said  the  crafty  Nancy. 
**  Give  you  the  next  chance,  Mr.  Bonamy,  ef  you  keer  fer 
it." 

It  was  iu  vain  that  Mark's  former  companion,  when  she 
returned  for  her  half-eaten  potato,  sought  to  engage  him 
again  in  conversation.  lie  did  nothing  but  stand  and  wait 
for  Nancy  and  look  at  her  while  she  whirled  through  the 
next  reel  as  Jim  McGowan's  partner.  In  fact,  everybody 
else  did  much  the  same  ;  all  the  young  men  declaring  that 
she  was  some,  sartain.  She  danced  with  a  perfect  aban 
don,  for  there  is  nothing  a  well-developed  animal  likes  bet 
ter  than  exercise  and  excitement ;  and  perfect  physical 
equilibrium  al \vays  produces  a  certain  grace  of  motion. 

While  Mark  stood  looking  at  Nancy,  Major  Lathers 
came  and  touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Mark,"  he  whispered,  "  if  you  don't  take  your  eyes  off 
that  air  creature  you're  a  gone  tater,  shore  as  shootin'. 
Don't  you  see  that  Jim  McGowan's  scowlin'  at  you  now, 
and  if  you  cut  him  out  he'll  be  dead  ag'inst  you.  Come, 
old  feller,  you'll  git  used  up  as  bad  as  Julius  Caesar  did 
when  he  went  down  into  Egypt  and  fell  in  love  with  Pha 
raoh's  daughter  and  the  like,  and  got  licked  by  it.  Let 
an  ole  friend  pull  you  out  of  the  bulrushes  and  the  like. 
Don't  you  have  no  more  to  do  with  that  girl,  do  ye  bear  ?  " 

"  But  I've  promised  to  dance  the  next  reel  with  her," 
pleaded  Mark,  feeling  the  force  of  Lathers's  remark  and 


32  BOXY. 

feeling  liis  own  powerlessness  to  resist  the  current  upon 
which  he  was  drifting. 

u  The  devil  you  have  !  "  cried  the  major.  "  Then 
you're  a  goner,  sure  enough.  Saltpeter  wont  save  you. 
All  the  young  men'll  be  ag'inst  you,  because  you've  cut 
'em  out  and  sich  like,  and  all  the  girls'll  be  down  on  you, 
because  you  run  after  the  purtiest  one.  Don't  be  a  fool, 
Mark.  Think  of  my  interest  as  well  as  your'n." 

"  Wait  till  I've  had  one  reel,"  said  Mark.  "  I'm  only 
in  for  a  little  fun,  you  know.  Isn't  she  a  splendid  creature, 
Major?" 

"  Splendid  !  the  devil ! "  muttered  Lathers,  turning  away 
and  shrewdly  meditating  how  to  cut  loose  from  Mark. 

Mark  danced  his  reel  with  Nancy,  and  then  devoted 
himself  to  her.  Having  no  further  use  for  Jim,  she 
snubbed  him,  and  Jim  swore  that  Bonamy  shouldn't  git  a 
vote  on  the  Fork.  Nothing  but  Bonamy's  excellent  mus 
cle  prevented  McGowan's  taking  a  more  summary  revenge. 

When  at  midnight  the  company  marched  out-of-doors 
and  stationed  themselves  around  a  table  made  of  rough 
boards  supported  by  stakes  driven  in  the  ground,  they 
found  a  rudebnt  substantial  supper  of  bacon  and  hominy, 
corn-bread,  sweet  cake  and  apple-pies.  For  luxury,  there 
was  coifee  in  place  of  the  sassafras  tea  with  which  Rocky 
Fork  was  accustomed  to  regale  itself,  and,  for  a  wonder, 
the  sweet'nin'  was  "  store  sugar " — of  the  brown  New 
Orleans  variety — instead  of  "country,"  or  maple  molasses, 
such  as  was  used  .on  ordinary  occasions.  The  cake,  how 
ever,  was  made  with  the  country  molasses. 

Mark,  whose  infatuation  seemed  to  increase,  devoted 
himself  at  supper  to  his  Hebe,  whom  he  would  have  liked 
better  had  she  been  entirely  silent.  It  taxed  his  gallantry 
to  laugh  at  her  awkward  and  bearish  pleasant yies. 


TUE  COUNTRY  HOE- DOWN.  33 

"  I  say,  Bonamy,"  whispered  Lathers,  "  ef  3-011  don't  flop 
round  into  the  channel  almighty  quick,  I  shan't  lash  flat- 
boats  weth  you  no  longer.  I'll  cut  mine  locse  and  swing 
around  and  leave  you  high  and  dry  onto  the  san'-bar." 

"  I'll  be  a  good  boy  after  supper,  Major,"  said  Mark. 
Lathers  saw  that  he  was  hopelessly  enchanted  by  the  siren 
of  Rocky  Fork,  and  he  proceeded  straightway  to  execute 
his  threat.  He  sought  out  Jim  McGowan,  and  told  the 
irate  fellow  how  he  had  done  his  best  to  keep  Mark  from 
makin'  a  fool  of  hisself. 

"  I'll  pay  him  back,"  said  Jim. 

"  I  know'd  you  would,"  answered  Lathers. 

"  He  wont  get  no  votes  on  Rocky  Fork,"  said  Jim. 

"  I  tole  him  so,"  said  the  major.  "  He  might  know 
you'd  hurt  him,  severe  like,  when  he  comes  in  and  spiles 
your  game  an'  the  like.  I'll  git  him  away  first  thing  in' 
the  mornin'.  Then  the  girl' 11  find  she's  throw'd  away  her 
beau  and  got  nothin'  but  a  fool  an'  the  like  for  one  dance. 
She'll  come  back  to  you  meeker'n  Moses  when  the  Phi 
listines  was  after  him.  He'd  orter  know  you  could  keep 
anybody  from  votin'  fer  him  here,  and  git  Whigs  to  trade 
off  somewheres  else.  Now,  for  instance,  ef  you  should  git 
a  lot  of  Rocky  Forkers  and  the  like  to  trade  with  Whigs 
—to  say  to  some  of  my  friends  that  ef  they'd  vote  ag'inst 
Mark,  you  all'd  vote  for  me  or  the  like,  you  might  hit  a 
enemy  and  do  a  good  turn  fer  a  friend.  Besides  you  know 
I'm  dead  ag'inst  the  dog  law,  and  dog  law  is  what  Rocky 
Fork  don't  want." 

From  Jim  the  major  proceeded  to  talk  with  "  old  man 
Kirtley,"  to  whom  he  said  that  he  didn't  blame  Mark  fer 
git  tin'  in  love  with  sich  a  girl.  He  might  do  worse' n  to 
many  sich  a  splendid  creature  and  the  like.  Fer  his  part 
he'd  tell  Mark  so  in  the  mornin'.  He  also  assured  Mr. 


31  ROX7. 

Kirtley  that  fer  his  part  he  was  dead  ag'inst  the  dog  law. 
Dogs  an'  sich  like  was  one  of  the  things  a  man  had  a 
right  to  in  a  free  country.  Poor  men  hadn't  got  many 
comforts,  and  dogs  was  one  of  'em.  The  chief  product  of 
the  Rocky  Fork  region,  as  the  major  knew,  was  dogs. 

Lathers  then  talked  to  the  "  women  folks."  He  said 
ne  di'dn't  think  so  much  of  a  purty  face  and  sich  like  as 
«_)  used  to.  What  you  wanted  in  a  woman  was  to  be  of 
some  account ;  and  girls  too  good-looking  got  to  be  fools, 
and  stuck-np  like  and  got  into  trouble,  like  Cleopaytry,  and 
the  like,  you  know.  He  also  took  occasion  to  tell  the 
ladies  of  Rocky  Fork  that  he  was  dead  ag'inst  the  dog  law. 
Poor  folks  had  as  much  right  to  dogs  and  sich  like  as  rich 
folks  to  sheep  and  sick  like. 

To  the  young  men  Tom  Lathers  said  he  didn't  believe 
in  a  man  dancin'  with  one  girl  all  the  time,  perticuler 
when  he  didn't  mean  to  marry  her  and  sich  like.  It  was 
Bcandalious.  When  he  come  to  Rocky  Fork  ag'in  he 
wouldn't  bring  no  town  fellers  and  the  like  along.  He 
believed  in  country  folks  himself,  and  besides  he  was  dead 
ag'inst  all  your  dog  laws  and  the  like.  Ef  he  got  to  be 
sheriff  he?d  show  'em  that  dog  laws  couldn't  be  crammed 
down  people's  throats  in  this  county.  Didn't  the  Decla 
ration,  which  our  fathers  signed  on  Bunker  Hill,  declare 
that  all  men  was  born  free  and  equal  ?  Wasn't  a  dog  and 
sich  like,  as  good  as  a  sheep  and  sick  like,  he'd  like  to 
know ;  and  if  taxin'  dogs  wasn't  taxation  without  repre 
sentation,  he'd  jist  like  to  know  what  was,  now  you  know, 
Ley? 

With  such  blandishments  Lathers  spent  the  time  until 
the  party  broke  up  with  a  final  jig,  when  at  length  he 
succeeded  in  getting  Murk  away,  but  not  untr  after  nearly 
all  of  the  guest  a  had  departed. 


CHAPTER    IT. 

ELECTIONEERING. 

;,"  said  the  major,  in  a  tone  of  paternal  antl  ority; 
and  after  long  and  deliberate  chewing  of  his  qtid  of 
tobacco,  "  ef  it  hadn't  been  for  me,  explaining  and  molli 
fying  things  and  the  like,  you  would  have  set  all  Rocky 
Fork  ag'inst  yon.  Why,  Jim  McGowan  was  bilin'  mad. 
You  inus'n't  look  at  pnrty  faces  and  the  like  too  long,  ef 
you  mean  to  be  a  member  this  winter.  A  man  like  you 
owes  somethin'  to  himself  and — and  his  country  and  the 
like,  now,  you  know.  Hey  ? " 

Mark  was  in  no  mood  now  to  receive  this  remonstrance 
In  the  cool  gray  dawning  of  the  morning,  when  the  excite 
ment  of  the  night  had  passed  off,  there  came  to  him  a 
sense  of  having  played  the  fool.  A  man  never  bears  to 
be  told  that  he  has  made  a  fool  of  himself,  when  he  knows 
it  beforehand. 

"  Major  Lathers,"  retorted  Mark, stiffly,  "I  didn't  bring 
you  along  for  a  guardian.  I'll  have  you  know  that  I  can 
take  care  of  myself  in  this  canvass.  If  I  choose  to  enjoy 
myself  for  a  few  hours  dancing  with  a  pretty  girl,  what 
harm  is  it?" 

"  If  you  was  to  be  beat,  and  the  like,  now,  you  know, 
by  about  six  votes,  you'd  find  out  that  folks  as  dances  has 
to  pay  the  blackest  kind  of  nigger-fiddlers  sometimes  with 
compound  interest  and  damages  and  costs,  and  sich  like, 
all  added  in  and  multiplied.  Don't  let's  you  and  me  git 
into  no  squabble,  nur  nothing  like  Cain  and  Abel  did  in 


36  MOXT. 

Paradise.  1  don't  want  to  be  no  gardeen,  nur  the  like, 
to  no  such  rapid-goin'  youth  as  you.  Risk's  too  big,  you 
know.  You've  got  book-learn  in',  and  you  can  speechify, 
now,  you  know,  bat  fer  whackin '  about  the  bushes  and 
the  likes,  ole  Tom  Lathers  is  hard  to  git  ahead  of.  You 
shoot  sharp  at  long  range  and  off-hand.  1  clap  my  hands 
every  time  you  shoot.  But  1  pick  up  the  votes  and  salt 
'em  down  fer  winter  use  and  the  like.  Now,  I  think  we 
better  keep  pards  till  election's  over,  anyhow.  Ef  you 
want  to  quarrel  afterward,  w'y  go  in,  that's  all,  and  I'm 
on  hand.  I  done  what  I  could  to  keep  Rocky  Fork  from 
gittin'  on  a  freshet  last  night,  and  if  you  go  back  on  me 
now,  it'll  be  ungrateful,  and  we'll  both  be  beat  all  to 

7  O  ' 

thunder  and  the  like." 

With  these  words  the  breach  was  healed  for  the  time, 
but  Mark  was  sulky  all  that  day. 

A  few  days  after  the  dance  at  Rocky  Fork,  Mark  had 
an  opportunity  to  retrieve  his  fortunes  by  making  one  of 
his  taking  speeches  at  the  Republican  meeting-house  only 
a  few  miles  away  from  Kirtley's,  but  in  a  neighborhood 
much  more  friendly  to  the  "Whig  candidate.  This  Re 
publican  meeting-house  had  been  built  as  a  union  church, 
in  which  all  denominations  were  to  worship  by  turns. 
But,  in  1840,  sectarian  spirit  ran  too  high  for  the  lion  and 
the  lamb  to  lie  down  together.  The  Episcopal  Method 
ists  had  quarreled  with  the  Radicals,  or  Methodist  Prot 
estants,  about  the  use  of  the  church  on  the  second  and 
fourth  Sundays  in  the  month,  while  the  Hardshells,  or 
Anti-means  Baptists  had  attempted  to  drive  the  Regular 
Baptists  out  of  the  morning  hour,  and  the  Two-seed  Bap 
tists  and  the  Free-wills  had  complicated  the  matter,  and 
the  New  Lights  aril  the  Adventists  aid  the  Disciples 
were  bound  also  to  assist  in  the  fight.  The  result  wa? 


ELECTIONEERING.  37 

that  the  benches  had  been  carried  oS  first  by  one  party, 
then  by  another,  and  there  had  been  locks  and  padlocks 
innumerable  broken  from  the  door.  So  that  the  visionary 
experiment  of  a  Republican  meeting-house  in  a  country 
where  popular  education  was  in  its  infancy  and  sectarian 
strife  at  its  worst,  had  only  resulted  in  teaching  these 
militant  Christians  the  arts  of  burglary  and  sacrilege. 
The  Whigs  and  Democrats,  however,  managed  to  use  the 
much-damaged  church  for  political  meetings  without 
coming  to  blows  over  it.  On  this  occasion  Bonamy  was 
to  have  a  discussion  with  his  opponent,  the  Democratic 
candidate  for  representative,  one  Henry  Hardin.  But,  as 
Hardin  had  no  gift  for  speech-making,  while  Mark  had, 
there  could  be  no  doubt  of  the  issue. 

The  Democrats  for  the  most  part  came  out  in  surly 
anticipation  of  defeat,  but  old  Enoch  Jackson,  the  wire 
puller  for  the  party  in  that  part  of  the  country,  shook  his 
head  significantly  and  gave  the  u  boys  "  to  understand  that 
"he  knew  somethin'  or  'nether  that  would  make  the 
Whigs  squirm."  And  it  was  passed  round  from  one  to 
another  that  "  old  Nuck  had  somethin'  in  his  head."  So 
the  Democrats  marched  into  the  meeting  with  an  unterri- 
fied  air. 

Mark  Bonamy  felt  very  sure  of  success.  He  was  to 
make  the  last  speech  and  Major  Lathers  assured  his  Whig 
friends  that  when  Hardin  was  through  with  his  speech, 
young  Bonamy  would  cnaw  him  all  up  and  the  like, 
now,  you  know.  Hardin  had,  however,  been  carefully 
*'  coached"  for  the  occasion  and  he  made  a  fair  argument 

o 

of  the  heavier  sort,  against  the  National  Bank,  against 
internal  improvements  by  the  general  government,  and 
especially  in  favor  of  free  trade,  spicing  his  remarks, 
which  wttrj  delivered  in  a  loud,  monotonous  tone,  with 


38  ROXT. 

many  appeals  to  the  popular  prejudice  against  the  Feder 
alists,  of  whom,  it  was  claimed,  the  Whigs  were  lineal 

>  O 

descendants.  At  proper  intervals  in  the  speech,  which 
was  of  uniform  heaviness,  Enoch  Jackson  would  bring  his 
heavy,  well-oiled  boot  down  upon  the  floor,  whereupon 
his  trained  partisans  followed  his  lead  with  energetic 
applause,  which  gave  the  exhausted  orator  time  to  breathe 
and  to  take  a  sip  of  water,  while  it  also  served  to  give  an 
appearance  of  vivacity  to  the  speech.  But  Bonamy  felt 
himself  able  to  brush  away  the  effect  of  Hardin's  speech 
with  a  dozen  telling  hits  delivered  in  his  magnetic 
manner. 

As  soon,  therefore,  as  Hard  in  had  ceased,  Mark  rose 
and  began  in  his  most  conciliatory  and  vote-winning 
fashion : 

"  Fellow-citizens  of  Brown  Township  :  I  want  to  say  in 
the  beginning  that  it  is  with  no  animosity  to  Democrats 
that  I  rise  to  address  you.  I  hurrahed  for  the  hero  of 
New  Orleans  when  I  was  a  boy.  Here  are  the  men  who 
voted  for  my  father.  I  have  no  unfriendly  feeling  to 
ward  them,  I  assure  you." 

"  You're  a  turn-coat,"  cried  one  of  the  young  men. 
But  this  was  what  Bonamy  wanted.  Contradiction  was 
his  foil. 

"I  am  a  turn-coat,  atrf*I? ''  he  cried  in  a  burst  of  indig 
nation.  "I  will  show  you  whether  I  am  a  turn-coat  or 
not.  Where  did  1  learn  the*  principle  of  protection? 
From  General  Jackson  himself,  as  I  will  proceed  to 
thow." 

But  at  this  point  everybody's  attention  was  drawn  to  a 
storm  of  oaths  coming  from  two  voices  without  the  door. 

"  You  lie,  you scoundrel.  I'll  lick  you  within 

an  inch  of  your  life  if  you  say  another  word." 


ELECTIONEERING.  39 

The  voice  was  Jim  McGowan's,  and  Major  Lathers, 
knowing  at  once  that  mischief  was  intended,  closed  the 
door  just  as  the  other  voice  cried  : 

"You  dassent  tech  me  with  your  little  finger,  you  cnssod 
coward  yon." 

"  Fellow-citizens,"  resumed  Mark,  "  I  have  been  called 
a  turn-coat,  now  I " 

"  Le'  go  of  me,"  Jim  McGowan  was  heard  to  say.  "  I 
kin  kill  Sam  Peters  the  best  day  he  ever  saw.  Le'  go  of 
me,  1  say." 

"  Le'  go  of  him,"  cried  Peters.  "Pll  spile  his  pro-file 
fer  him." 

Within  there  was  confusion.  Only  Enoch  Jackson 
appeared  entirely  quiet  and  really  anxious  to  hear  what 
Bonamy  had  to  say.  The  rest  would  rather  hava  seen 
a  fight  than  to  have  heard  the  best  speaker  in  the 
world. 

"  I  have  been  called  a  turn-coat,"  resumed  Mark,  "  and 
I  want  to " 

But  here  the  cries  out-of-doors  indicated  that  the  two 
had  broken  loose  from  their  friends  and  were  about  to 
have  a  "stand  up  fight."  This  was  too  much  for  the 
audience.  It  was  of  no  use  for  Mark  to  say  "  Fellow- 
citizens."  The  fellow-citizens  were  already  forming  a 
ring  around  Sam  Peters  and  Jim  McGowan,  who,  on 
their  parts,  had  torn  off  their  shirts  and  stood  stripped 
for  the  fight,  which  for  some  reason  they  delayed,  in 
spite  of  their  vehement  protestations  of  eagerness  for 
it.  Bonamy  was  left  with  no  auditors  but  Major  Lathers, 
Enoch  Jackson,  who  looked  at  him  innocently,  and 
his  opponent,  who  sat  decorously  waiting  for  him  to 
proceed. 

When  Mark  desisted  from  speaking,  Enoch  Jackson'i 


4:0  ROX7. 

triumph  was  complete,  but  he  set  out  to  walk  home  with 
the  gravity  of  a  statesman.  Mark,  however,  did  not  give 
up  the  battle  easily.  He  called  a  Whig  justice  into  the 
church,  swore  out  a  writ  against  Peters  and  McGowan, 
and  helped  arrest  them  with  his  own  hands.  This  prompt 
action  saved  him  from  the  ignominy  of  entire  defeat,  but 
it  was  too  late  to  save  the  day.  By  the  time  the  partici 
pants  in  this  sham  battle  had  paid  their  tines,  the  day  had 
so  far  waned  that  it  was  impossible  to  rally  the  audience 
to  listen  to  any  farther  speaking. 

Lathers  did  not  say  anything  to  Mark  as  they  rode 
away.  Bonamy  was  in  continual  expectation  of  a  repri 
mand  for  his  folly  in  running  after  "  purty  girls  and  the 
like."  But  Lathers  knew  that  Mark  needed  no  further 
rebuke. 

From  that  time  until  the  day  of  election  Bonamy  gave 
his  whole  heart  to  the  canvass,  and  his  taking  speeches 
and  insinuating  manners  enabled  him  in  some  degree  to 
retrieve  the  error  he  had  committed.  It  was  only  on  the 
very  last  day  of  that  exciting  campaign  that  he  ventured 
to  turn  aside  on  his  way  home  and  ask  for  a  drink  of 
water  at  old  Gid  Kirtley's  fence,  loitering  half  an  hour 
without  dismounting,  while  Nancy  KirtL  y,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  fence,  made  Mark  forget  her  foolish  talk  by 
shifting  from  one  attitude  to  another  so  as  to  display  face 
and  figure  to  the  best  advantage.  Only  the  necessity  for 
reaching  Luzerne  that  evening  in  time  for  "  the  grand 
rally "  with  which  the  canvass  closed,  could  have  per 
suaded  the  dazzled  young  man  to  cut  short  the  interview. 
This  he  found  hard  of  accomplishment,  the  bewitching 
siren  using  all  her  endeavor  to  detain  him.  It  was  only 
by  sacrificing  a  watch-seal  of  no  great  value,  upon  which 
he  &aw  her  covetous  eyes  fastened,  that  he  succeeded  iv 


ELECTIONEERING.  4:1 

disentangling  himself.  He  swore  at  himself  half  the  way 
to  Luzerne  for  his  "  devilish  imprudence  "  in  giving  her 
the  trinket.  But  a  hopeful  temperament  brought  him 
peace  after  a  while,  and  he  made  a  most  effective  appeal 
to  the  Whigs  at  Luzerne  to  "  rally  "  round  tLe  hero  of 
Tippecanoe. 


CHAPTEK    V. 

ELECTION    DAY. 

You  have  often  wondered,  no  doubt,  why  men  should 
make  a  business  of  politics.  There  is,  of  course,  the  love 
of  publicity  and  power;  but,  with  the  smaller  politicians, 
this  hardly  accounts  for  the  eagerness  with  which  they 
give  themselves  to  a  business  so  full  of  toil,  rudeness,  and 
anxiety.  I  doubt  not  the  love  of  combat  and  the  love  of 
hazard  lie  at  the  root  of  this  fascination.  This  playing 
the  desperate  stake  of  a  man's  destiny  against  another 
man's  equal  risk,  must  be  very  exciting  to  him  who  has 
the  impulse  and  the  courage  of  a  gamester. 

The  grand  rally  of  each  party  had  been  held  in  the  vil 
lage  of  Luzerne,  and  other  rallies  not  so  grand  had  been 
rallied  at  all  the  other  places  in  the  county.  It  was  at, 
last  the  morning  of  the  election  day.  Politicians  awoke 
from  troubled  slumbers  with  a  start.  I  fancy  election  day 
must  be  hard  on  the  candidate;  there  is  so  little  for  him 
to  do.  The  whippers-in  are  busy  enough,  each  at  his 
place,  but  the  candidate  can  only  wait  till  night-fall. 
And  all  the  while  he  is  conscious  that  men  are  observing 
him,  ready  to  note  the  slightest  symptom  of  uneasiness. 
With  all  this,  under  the  ballot  system,  he  must  remain  in 
entire  ignorance  of  the  state. of  the  poll  until  the  election 
is  concluded. 

On  that  first  Monday  in  the  August  of  1840,  the  town 
was  thronged  with  people  by  seven  o'clock.  The  old  poli 
ticians  voted  silently  early  in  the  morning.  Then  came 


ELECTION  DAT.  43 

the  *ioisy  crowd  who  could  not  vote  without  swearing  and 
quarreling.  There  were  shouts  for  "  Little  Yan,"  and 
cries  of  "  Hurrah  for  Tippeeanoe,"  for,  though  the  presi 
dential  election  came  months  later,  the  state  elections 
would  go  far  toward  deciding  the  contest  by  the  weight 
of  their  example. 

At,  midday,  when  the  crowd  was  greatest,  old  Bob  Har- 
wo]l,a  soldier  of  the  Revolution,  who  had  managed  to 
livo  to  an  advanced  age,  by  dint  of  persistent  drunkenness 
an<V  general  worthlessness,  was  drawn  to  the  polls  in  a 
carriage  amid  deafening  cheers  for  the  veteran,  from  the 
WLigs.  The  old  man  appreciated  the  dramatic  position. 
.Presenting  his  ballot  with  a  trembling  hand,  he  lifted  his 
bat  and  swung  it  feebly  round  his  head. 

"Boys,"  he  cried,  in  a  quavering,  mock-heroic  voice, 
"I  fit  under  Gineral  Washi'ton,  an'  I  voted  fer  him,  an' 
now  I've  voted  fer  General  Harrison  "  (the  old  man  be 
lieved  that  he  had),  "  and  if  the  hero  of  Tippecanoe  is 
elected,,  I  want  to  die  straight  out  and  be  the  fust  one  to 
go  to  heaven  and  tell  Washi'ton  that  Gineral  Harrison's 
elected!  Hurrah!" 

"  You'll  be  a  mighty  long  while  a-gittin'  thar,  you  old 
sinner,"  cried  one  of  the  Democrats. 

The  old  Swiss  settlers  and  their  descendants  voted  the 
Democratic  ticket,  probably  from  a  liking  to  the  name  of 
the  party.  It  is  certain  that  they  knew  as  little  as  their 
American  fellow-citizens  about  the  questions  of  finance 
which  divided  the  two  parties.  After  the  Revolutionary 
relic  had  departed,  there  came  an  old  Frenchman — one 
Pierre  Larousse — who  was  commonly  classed  with  the 
Swiss  on  account  of  his  language,  but  who  voted  with  the 
Whigs. 

"  W'af,  for  you  vote  the  W'ig  tigget,  eh  3 "  cried  out 


44  JROXY. 

David  Croissant,  one  of  the  older  Swiss.  "  You  are  a 
turn-goat,  to  come  to  Amereeky  an'  not  pe  a  dainograt 
SdO-d-papier  !  Entrailles  de  ponies  !  " 

"  !SaG-r-r-re  !  Le  didble!  "  burst  out  Larousse.  "  You 
dinks  I  is  darn-goat.  I  dinks  you  lies  one  varee  leetle  pit- 
By  gare  !  I  nayvare  pe  a  damograt.  I  see  'nough  of 
darnograts.  Sacr-r-re !  I  leef  in  Paree.  Robespierre 
vas  a  damograt.  I  hafe  to  veel  of  my  head  avairy  morn 
ing  to  see  eef  it  vas  nod  shop  off.  I  no  likes  your  damo- 
grats.  Doo  much  plud.  I  likes  my  head  zave  and  zound, 
eh  ?  By  gare  !  Quel  sacre  imbecile  !  " 

It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  the  Swiss  Democrat  and 
the  French  Whiff  were  restrained  from  folio  win  »•  their 

~  o 

stout  French  oaths  with  stouter  blows. 

With  such  undignified  accompaniments  and  interludes 
did  the  American  citizen  of  that  day  perform  the  fre&- 
man's  "  kingliest  act "  of  voting.  The  champion  fighter 
of  the  western  end  of  the  county  cheerfully  accepted  "  a 
dare"  from  the  champion  fighter  from  the  eastern  end  of 
the  county,  and  the  two  went  outside  of  the  corporation 
line,  and  in  the  shade  of  the  beautiful  poplars  on  the  rivo 
bank  pummeled  each  other  in  a  friendly  way  until  the 
challenger,  finding  that  his  antagonist  had  entirely  stoppe.i 
respiration,  was  forced  to  "  hollow  calf -rope,'7  that  is,  to 
signify  by  gestures  that  he  was  beaten. 

Night  came,  and  with  it  more  drinking,  noise,  and 
fighting,  filling  up  the  time  till  the  returns  should  come 
in.  After  nine  o'clock,  horsemen  came  galloping  in,  first 
by  one  road  and  then  by  another,  bringing  news  firm 
country  precincts.  On  the  arrival  of  the  messenger,  there 
was  always  a  rush  of  the  waiting  idlers  to  that  part  of  the 
public  square  between  the  court-house  door  and  the  town- 
pump.  Here  the  tidings  were  delivered  bj  the  messen- 


ELECTION  DAT.  45 

gers  and  each  party  cheered  in  turn  as  the  news  si  owed 
that  the  victory  wavered  first  to  one  side  and  then  to  the 
other.  The  Democrats  became  excited  when  they  found 
that  the  county,  which  always  had  been  a  "stronghold,'' 
might  possibly  be  carried  by  the  Whigs.  It  was  to  them 
the  first  swash  of  the  great  opposition  wave  that  swept  tho 
followers  of  Jackson  from  their  twelve  years'  hold  on  the 
government. 

In  the  first  returns,  Bonamy  ran  a  few  votes  ahead  of 
his  ticket,  and  his  friends  were  sure  of  his  election.  But 
with  Mark  there  was  a  fearful  waiting  for  the  punishment 
of  his  sins.  His  flirtation  with  Nancy  Kirtley  did  not 
seem  half  so  amusing  to  him  now  that  in  a  close  election 
he  began  to  see  that  Rocky  Fork  might  put  back  the  ful 
fillment  of  his  ambition  for  years.  Paying  the  fiddler  is  a 
great  stimulus  to  the  pricks  of  conscience. 

When  the  returns  from  the  Rocky  Fork  precinct  were 
read,  Mark  was  astonished  to  hear  that  where  nearly  every 
vote  was  Democratic,  his  friend,  Major  Lathers,  had  re 
ceived  twenty-five  votes.  His  own  vote  in  the  same  poll 
was  precisely  one.  This  must  have  been  cast  by  old  Gid 
Kirtley.  Every  other  man  in  the  Fork  was  his  enemy. 
When  the  adjacent  voting-places  in  Brown  Township 
came  to  be  heard  from  through  the  mud-bespattered  mes 
sengers  who  had  ridden  their  raw-boned  steeds  out  of 
breath  for  the  good  of  their  country,  Mark  caught  ,a  little 
glimpse  of  the  adroit  hand  of  Lathers.  He  had  lost 
twenty-four  Whig  votes  to  offset  the  twenty-five  Demo 
cratic  votes  which  Lathers  received.  There  had  then  been 
a  system  of  "  trading  off."  This  is  what  Lathers  had  been 
doing,  while  he,  like  a  fool,  had  been  dancing  attendance 
on  "that  confounded  Nancy  Kirtley,"  as  he  now  called 
her  in  his  remorseful  soliloquies. 


46         -  ROXT. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  two  remote  townships — York  and 
Posey — were  yet  to  be  heard  from.  The  whole  case  was 
to  be  decided  by  them.  It  was  still  uncertain  whether 
the  "Whigs  or  the  Democrats  had  carried  the  county ;  but 
there  was  little  hope  that  the  two  towns,  usually  Demo- 
cratic,  would  give  Whig  majority  enough  to  elect  Bonamy, 
Meantime,  the  crowd  were  discussing  the  returns  froir. 
Tanner  Township.  "What  made  Bonamy  fall  so  far  be 
hind?  When  the  story  of  the  dance  began  to  be  circu 
lated,  there  was  much  derision  of  Mark's  weakness  and 
much  chuckling  over  the  shrewdness  by  which  Major 
Lathers  had  made  it  serve  his  turn.  But  Lathers  was 
quite  unwilling"  to  confess  that  he  had  betrayed  his 
friend.  When  asked  about  his  increased  vote,  he  de 
clared  that  "  the  dog-law  and  the  likes  done  the  busi 
ness." 

As  the  time  wore  on  toward  eleven,  the  impatient  crowd 
moved  to  the  upper  part  of  the  town,  where  they  would 
intercept  the  messenger  from  York  and  Posey.  Here, 
under  the  locusts  in  front  of  a  little  red  building  used  as 

O 

a  hatter's  shop,  they  stood  awaiting  the  vote  that  was  to 
decide  the  awful  question  of  the  choice  of  six  or  eight 
petty  officers — a  question  which  seemed  to  the  excited 
partisans  one  of  supreme  moment. 

All  at  once  the  horse's  feet  are  heard  splashing  through 
mud  and  water.  Everybody  watches  eagerly  to  see 
whether  it  be  a  Whig  or  a  Democrat  who  rides,  for,  as  is 
the  messenger,  so  is  his  message. 

"  Hurray  for  York  and  Posey ! " 

Mark,  who  is  in  the  crowd,  notes  that  it  is  the  voice  of 
Dan  Hoover,  the  Whig  ringleader  in  York.  The  voter? 
surround  him  and  demand  the  re^ns,  for  the  Democrats 
still  hope  that  Bonamy  is  beaten.  But  they  can  get  buj 


oar 


HURRAY  FOR  YOBK  AND  POSEY  1 " 


I  \ 

ELECTION  DAT.  47 


one  reply  from  the  messenger,  who  swings  his  hat  and 
rises  in  his  saddle  to  cry  : 

"Hurray  for  York  and  Posey  !  " 

"Well,  what  about  York  and  Posey,  Hoover?  We 
want  to  know,"  cries  Mark,  who  can  bear  the  suspense  no 
longer.  But  Hoover  is  crazed  with  whisky  and  can  give 
no  intelligible  account  of  the  election  in  York  and  Posey. 
He  responds  to  every  question  by  rising  in  his  stirrups, 
swinging  his  hat  and  bellowing  out : 

"  Hurray  for  York  and  Posey,  I  say ! " 

After  half  an  hour  of  futile  endeavor  to  extract  any 
thing  more  definite  from  him,  Mark  hit  upon  an  expedi 
ent. 

"  I  say,  Dan,  come  over  to  Dixon's  and  get  a  drink, 
you're  getting  hoarse." 

This  appeal  touched  the  patriotic  man.  Mark  got  the 
spell  of  iteration  broken  and  persuaded  Hoover  to  give 
him  a  memorandum  which  he  carried  in  his  pocket  and 
which  read: 

44  York  gives  19  majority  for  the  Whig  ticket, 
Posey  gives  7  majority  for  the  same, 
Bonamy  a  little  ahead  of  the  ticket." 

This  indicated  Mark's  election.  But  he  did  not  sleep 
soundly  until  two  days  later  when  the  careful  official 
count  gave  him  a  majority  of  thirteen. 

With  this  favorable  result  his  remorse  for  having  cheated 
poor  Jim  McGowan  out  of  his  sweetheart  became  sensibly 
less,  though  he  laid  away  some  maxims  of  caution  for  him 
self,  as  that  he  must  not  run  such  risks  again.  He  was 
not  bad,  this  Mark  Bonamy.  He  was  only  one  of  those 
men  whose  character  has  not  hardened.  He  was  like  a 
shifting  sand -bank  that  lay  open  on  all  sides  to  the  water; 


48  ROXT. 

every  rise  and  fall  or  change  of  direction  in  tlie  current 
of  influence  went  over  him.  There  are  men  rot  bad  who 
may  come  to  do  very  bad  things  from  mere  impressibility, 
lie  was  not  good,  but  should  he  chance  to  be  seized  by 
some  power  strong  enough  to  master  him,  he  might  come 
to  be  good.  Circumstances,  provided  they  are  suffi 
ciently  severe,  may  even  harden  such  negatives  into  fixed 
character,  either  good  or  bad,  after  a  while.  But  in 
Mark's  present  condition,  full  of  exuberant  physical  life 
and  passion,  with  quick  perceptions,  a  lively  imagination, 
ambitious  vanity,  a  winning  address  and  plenty  of  bon- 
hommie,  it  was  a  sort  of  pitch  and  toss  between  devil  and 
guardian  angel  for  possession. 

Set  it  down  to  his  credit  that  he  had  kept  sober  on 
this  election  night.  His  victory  indeed  was  riot  yet  sure 
enough  to  justify  a  rejoicing  which  might  prove  to  be 
premature.  Drunkenness,  moreover,  was  not  an  inherent 
tendency  with  Bonamy.  If  he  now  and  then  drank  too 
much,  it  was  not  from  hereditary  hunger  for  stimulant, 
much  less  from  a  gluttonous  love  of  the  pleasures  of  gust. 
The  quickened  sense  of  his  imprudence  in  the  matter 
of  the  dance  at  Rocky  Fork  had  a  restraining  effect  upon 
him  on  election  day.  At  any  rate,  he  walked  home  at 
midnight  with  no  other  elation  than  that  of  having  car 
ried  the  election  ;  and  even  this  joy  was  moderated  by  a 
fear  that  the  official  count  might  yet  overthrow  his  victory. 
It  was  while  walking  in  this  mood  of  half-exultation  that 
Bonamy  overtook  lloxy  Adams  and  her  friend  Twonnet, 
just  in  the  shadow  of  the  silent  steam-mill. 

"  Good-evening,  or  good-morning,  I  declare  I  don't 
know  which  to  say,"  he  langhed  as  he  came  upon  them. 
"  You  haven't  been  waiting  for  election  returns,  have 
you?" 


ELECTION  DAY.  4:9 

"  Have  you  heard,  Mark  ?  are  you  elected  ? "  inquired 
Roxy,  with  an  eagerness  that  flattered  Bonamy. 

i£  Yes,  I  am  elected,  but  barely,"  he  replied.  "  But 
what  on  earth  are  you  girls  taking  a  walk  at  midnight 
for  ?  I'll  bet  Roxy's  been  sitting  up  somewhere  2 " 

"  Yes,"  said  Twonnet,  whose  volatile  spirits  could  not 
be  damped  by  any  circumstances,  "  of  course  we've  been 
sitting  up,  since  we  haven't  gone  to  bed.  It  doesn't  take 
a  member  of  the  legislature  to  tell  that.  Honorable  Mr. 
Bonamy." 

This  sort  of  banter  from  his  old  school-mate  was  very 
agreeable.  Mark  liked  to  have  his  new  dignity  aired  even 
in  jest,  and  in  a  western  village  where  a  native  is  never 
quite  able  to  shed  his  Christian  name,  such  freedoms  are 
always  enjoyed. 

"  But  where  have  you  been  \ "  asked  Mark,  as  he  walked 
along  with  them. 

"  Up  at  Haz  Kirtley's.  His  baby  died  about  an  hour 
ago,"  said  Roxy,  "  and  I  sent  for  Twonnet  to  tell  them 
how  to  make  a  shroud.  She  understands  such  things,  you 
know." 

"  That's  just  what  I  am  good  for,"  put  in  Twonnet,  "  I 
never  thought  of  that  before.  I  knew  that  nothing  was 
made  in  vain.  There  ought  to  be  one  woman  ki  a  town 
that  kncws  how  to  make  shrouds  for  dead  people.  That's 
me.  But  Roxy — I'll  tell  you  what  she's  good  for,"  con 
tinued  the  enthusiastic  Swiss  girl  with  great  vivacity ; 
*'  she  keeps  people  out  of  shrouds.  I  might  put  up  a 
sign,  Mark,  and  let  it  read :  l  Antoinette  Lefaure,  Shroud- 
maker.'  How  does  that  sound  ?  " 

"  Strangers  never  would  believe  that  you  were  the  per 
son  meant,"  said  Mark.  "  One  sight  of  your  face  would 
make  them  think  you  had  never  seen  a  corpse.  Besides, 


50  ROXT. 

yen  couldn't  keep  from  laughing  a;  a  fur.eral,  Twonnet, 
you  know  you  couldn't." 

"  I  know  it,"  she  said,  and  her  clear  laugh  burst  forth 
at  the  thought.  "  I  giggled  to-night  right  over  that  poor 
dead  baby,  and  I  could  'a'  whipped  myself  for  it,  too. 
YOVL  see,  Haz  Kirtley's  sister  was  there.  Haz  is  ignorant 
enough,  but  his  sister — oh  my  ! "  and  Twonnet  paused  to 
laugh  again. 

"  Oh,  don't,  Twonnet— don't  laugh  so,"  said  Eoxy.  "  I 
declare  I  can't  get  over  that  poor  child's  sufferings  and 
its  mother's  scream  when  she  saw  it  was  dead.  I  used  to 
think  low  people  of  that  sort  hadn't  much  feeling,  but 
they  have.  That  sister  of  Haz's  is  an  ignorant  girl,  and  I 
don't  like  her  much,  but  she  is  beautiful." 

"  She's  the  prettiest  creature  I  ever  saw,"  said  Twonnet. 
"  But  when  she  looked  at  me  so  solemnly  out  of  her  large, 
bright  eyes  and  told  me  that  she  knew  that  the  baby  must 
die,  '  bekase  the  screech-owl  hollered  and  the  dog  kep'  up 
sich  a  yowlin'  the  livelong  night,'  I  thought  Pd  die." 

Mark  could  make  but  little  reply  to  this.  He  had  not 
thought  of  any  kinship  between  Haz  Kirtley,  the  dray 
man,  and  Nancy  Kirtley  a  dozen  miles  away  on  Rocky 
Fork.  Had  Nancy  come  into  ^towu  to-day  to  be  his 
Nemesis?  He  heartily  wished  he  had  never  seen  her. 
Without  suspecting  the  true  state  of  the  case,  Twonnet 
was  seized  with  an  uncontrollable  impulse  to  tease. 

"  By  the  way,  Mark,"  she  began  again,  "  while  I  was 
cutting  out  the  shroud,  Nancy  Kirtley  told  me  in  confi 
dence  that  she  knew  you  well.  Sho  spoke  of  you  -as 
though  you  were  a  very  particular  friend,  indeed." 

"  A  candidate  has  to  be  everybody's  very  particular 
friend,"  said  Mark,  in  a  tone  of  annoyance,  thinking  oi 
the  seal  he  had  given  away  the  day  before. 


ELECTION  DAY.  51 

"  She  said  you  couldn't  trot  a  reel  very  well,  though," 
persisted  Twonnet.  "  She  claims  to  have  danced  with 
y<m  all  night,  and  she  ought  to  know." 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  Mark,  "  What  a  yarn  ! " 

The  evident  vexation  of  Bonaray  delighted  Twonnet. 

"  Poor  old  Mr.  Wiiite  ! "  interrupted  Roxy,  who  wished 
to  make  a  diversion  in  Mark's  favor.  "  There's  his  can 
dle  burning  yet.  They  say  he  hasn't  been  able  to  sleep 
without  it  for  thirty  years.  It  must  be  an  awful  thing  to 
have  such  a  conscience." 

Something  in  Mark's  mood  made  him  feel  in  an  nnrea 
sonable  way  that  this  allusion  to  Mr.  White's  conscience 
was  a  thrust  at  himself.  White  was  an  old  man  who  had 
shot  and  killed  a  man  in  a  street  affray,  many  years  be 
fore,  when  the  territory  of  Indiana  was  yet  new  and  law 
less,  but  the  old  man  from  that  day  had  never  slept  with 
out  a  light  in  his  room. 

They  had  now  reached  the  little  gate  in  the  paling 
fence  in  front  of  Twonnet  Lefaure's  home,  and  Mark  was 
glad  to  bid  the  vivacious  tease  good-night,  and  to  walk  on 
with  Roxy,  whose  house  lay  a  little  further  away  in  the 
direction  of  his  own  home.  Now  that  Twonnet  was  out 
of  sight  his  complacency  had  returned ;  but  he  was  quite 
in  the  mood  to-night  to  wish  to  live  better,  and  he  confided 
to  Roxy  his  purpose  to  "  turn  over  a  new  leaf,"  the  more 
readily  since  he  knew  that  she  would  cordially  approve 
it,  and  approval  was  what  he  craved  now  more  than  any 
thing  else. 

Besides,  Roxy  was  the  saint  of  the  town.  In  a  village 
nobody  has  to  wait  long  to  find  a  u  mission."  He  who 
can  do  anything  well  is  straightway  recognized,  and  hia 
vocations  are  numerous.  The  woman  who  has  a  genius 
for  dress  is  forthwith  called  in  consultation  at  all  those 


52  RQXY. 

critical  life-and-death  moments  when  dresses  are  to  be 
made  for  a  wedding,  an  infare,  or  a  funeral.  And  the 
other  woman  whose  touch  is  tender,  magnetic,  and  life- 
giving,  is  asked  to  "set  up"  with  the  sick  in  all  critical 
cases.  Such  was  Roxy  Adams.  The  gift  of  helpfulness 
was  born  in  her ;  and  to  possess  the  gift  of  helpfulness  is 
to  be  mortgaged  to  all  who  need. 

That  night  Roxy  climbed  the  steep  stairs  to  her  room, 
and  went  to  bed  without  writing  in  her  diary.  When 
one's  heart  is  full,  one  is  not  apt  to  drop  a  plummet  line 
into  it ;  and  now  Roxy  was  happy  in  the  reaction  which 
helpfulness  brings — for  an  angel  can  never  make  other 
people  as  happy  as  the  angel  is.  And  she  was  pleased 
that  Mark  had  carried  the  election,  and  pleased  to  think 
that  perhaps  she  had  "  dropped  a  word  in  season  "  that 
might  do  him  good. 

And  while  the  innocent-hearted  girl  was  praying  for 
him,  Mark  was  inwardly  cursing  the  day  he  had  met 
Nancy  Kirtley,  and  resolving  to  cut  her  acquaintance,  by 
degrees. 


CHAPTER  YI 

A.   GENRE   PIECE. 

WHTTTAKER  was  one  of  those  people  *vbo  take  offense 
gradually.  Adams's  rude  remarks  a!>f><it  preachers  had 
rankled  in  him.  The  first  day  after  he  made  up  his  mind 
that  it  was  offensive.  In  two  or  three  (lays  he  concluded 
that  he  would  not  visit  the  keen-witted  but  aggressive 
fihoe-maker  again  until  some  apology  should  be  made.  By 
the  time  the  election  was  over  he  doubted  whether  he 
ought  to  greet  Mr.  Adams  on  the  street  if  he  should  chance 
to  meet  him.  At  least  he  would  let  his  crusty  friend  make 
the  first  advance. 

Now  Adams  was  penitent  for  his  rudeness  even  while 
he  was  being  rude;  it  was  an  involuntary  ferocity.  He 
had  regretted  the  words  before  he  uttered  them.  He 
knew  that  he  ought  to  apologize,  but  he  must  do  even 
that  by  contraries.  Meeting  the  minister  one  afternoon, 
right  at  the  town  pump,  he  stationed  himself  so  as  to 
block  Whittaker's  path,  bowed,  smiled  grimly,  and  then 
c:une  out  with : 

'•  Mi-.  Whittaker,  you  and  I  had  some  sharp  words  in 
our  discussion  about  good  old  Henry  "VIIL,  the  j&st  time 
you  were  at  my  house.  You  haven't  been  there  since, 
and  you  haven't  been  in  the  shop,  either.  It  occurs  to 
me  that  may  be  you  said  something  on  that  occasion  for 
which  you  would  like  to  apologize.  If  so,  you  now  have 
an  opportunity." 


54  EOXY. 

This  was  said  with  such  droll,  raock-earnestness,  thai 
Whittaker  could  not  but  laugh. 

"  Of  course  1  will  apologize,  Mr.  Adams,"  he  said,  not 
without  emphasis  on  the  pronoun. 

"  And  I,"  said  the  other,  lifting  himself  up  as  if  to  rep 
resent  the  height  of  his  own  magnanimity — "  and  I  will 
freely  forgive  you.  Come  and  see  me  to-night.  1  haven't 
had  a  human  soul  to  quarrel  with  since  you  were  there 
before,  except  Roxy,  and  she  won't  quarrel  back  worth 
a  cent.  Now  the  old  score's  wiped  out  and  we've  settled 
Bluebeard  and  his  wives,  come  'round  to-night  and  abuse 
me  about  something  else." 

"  I'll  come  this  very  evening,"  said  Whittaker. 

"Now?" 

"  No  ;  this  evening." 

"  Oh !  you're  a  confirmed  Yankee,"  said  Adams. 
"  Why,  it's  evening  now.  After  supper  we  call  it  night. 
Come,  let's  reconcile  the  confusion  of  tongues.  Come  to 
supper.  I  suppose  you  call  it  tea.  Come,  we'll  teach  you 
English  if  you  live  in  these  wild  heathen  parts  long.  Now 
I've  made  up,  I  am  aching  to  quarrel,  I  tell  you." 

Mr.  Whittaker  made  some  feeble  resistance.  But  the 
village  society  was  so  insipid  that  he  found  in  himself  a 
yearning  for  the  stimulant  conversation  of  the  paradoxical 
Adams.  It  was  a  relief  to  talk  with  somebody  who  did 
not  give  an  ex  officio  deference  to  a  minister's  opinion. 
Perhaps  there  was  an  unconscious  inclination  to  see  Roxy 
again,  but  this  did  not  come  into  the  category  of  admitted 
reasons  for  eating  supper  with  the  shoe-maker. 

When  Roxy  <*aw  Mr.  Whittaker  coming  home  with  her 
father,  she  put  hat  upon  the  reluctant  Bobo  and  sent  him 
home.  Then  she  began  to  "  fly  around,"  as  the  western 
phrase  is,  to  get  a  supper  "  fit  for  a  preacher."  If  Mr, 


A   GENRE  PIECE.  55 

Whittaker  had  been  observant  of  trifles  he  might  have  fore 
told  the  character  of  the  supper,  for  the  "company  supper," 
among  the  better  families  in  a  western  town  did  not  vary 
much.  There  was  commonly  fried  chicken  in  a  rich  gravy 
made  with  cream  ;  there  was  strong  coffee  with  plenty  of 
loaf-sugar  and  cream  ;  there  might  be  u  preserves  "  of  apple, 
or  peach,  or  quince,  of  a  tempting  transparency,  and 
smothered  with  cream  ;  and  then  there  were  generally  libt 
biscuits  of  snowy  whiteness,  or  some  of  those,  wonderful 
"corn  batter-cakes,"  which  dwellers  north  of  the  great 
corn  belt  have  never  tasted.  Western  housekeepers  are 
all  Marthas.  They  feel  obliged  to  "put  themselves  about," 
as  the  Scotch  say,  when  they  have  company.  And  so 
Roxy  got  out  the  old  china  tea-pot  and  sugar-bowl  which 
had  come  down  from  her  grandmother,  divers  parts  of 
handles,  lids,  and  spouts  having  suffered  those  accidents 
which  china  is  heir  to,  and  been  judiciously  mended  with 
cement.  There  were  yet  three  tea-cups  and  two  saucers  of 
the  old  set  left.  The  cups  had  dainty  handles  and  were 
Btriped  and  flowered  with  gilt.  She  served  the  two  saucers 
to  her  guest  and  her  father,  while  she  was  forced  to  use  a 
china  cup  with  a  saucer  which  did  not  match.  I  may  add 
irx  digression  that  table  manners  were  not  the  same  then 
and  there  as  now  and  here.  Then  one  must  not  drink 
from  the  cup,  but  only  from  the  saucer,  into  which  the 
coffee  was  poured  to  cool.  Such  loose  food  as  could  not 
be  eaten  with  an  old-fashioned  steel  fork  with  two  tines 
was  gracefully  and  daintily  shove7 -?d  into  the  mouth  with 
the  knife,  but  it  was  de  rigeur  that  the  knife  should  be 
presented  with  the  back  towards  the  lips. 

Supper  over,  the  minister  and  the  shoe-maker  fell  into  a 
dispute,  of  course,  and  as  Whittaker  persisted  in  exasper 
ating  Adams  by  his  politeness,  and  especially  by  his  down- 


56  ROXY. 

east  interrogative  of  "What  say?"  when  he  did  not  com 
prehend  the  drift  of  his  companion's  remark,  the  rudeness 
of  the  shoe-maker  might  have  grown  as  pronounced  as  it 
had  been  before,  if  a  kindly  chance  had  not  made  a  break 
in  the  talk.  Old  Tom  Roberts — or,  as  the  people  would 
pronounce  it,  "  Robberds  " — had  brought  a  load  of  un- 
pressed  hay  to  town,  and  having  stood  all  day  upon  the 
street  without  finding  a  purchaser,  had  resolved  in  sheer 
despair  to  make  a  virtue  of  a  necessity,  and  get  rid  of  hia 
hay  by  paying  a  long-standing  debt  for  a  pair  of  boots. 
The  opportunity  to  collect  such  a  debt  was  not  to  be 
missed,  and  Adams  found  it  necessary  to  forego  the  com 
pany  of  his  guest  while  he  should  stow  away  the  hay  in 
the  mow,  as  Roberts  pitched  it  off  the  wagon. 

But  Roxy,  to  make  amends  for  her  father's  absence, 
hurried  through  with  her  work,  and  when  she  had  cleared 
away  the  "  supper  things,"  sat  down  in  the  sitting-room. 
There  was  an  old-fashioned  lire-place  stuffed  full  of  great 
green  asparagus  bushes  now,  to  hide  its  black  walls. 
Above  was  the  mantel-piece,  over  which  hung  a  common 
print  of  "Washington  crossing  the  Delaware."  In  one 
corner  stood  the  tall  clock,  whose  loud,  slow,  steady,  sixty 
beats  to  the  minute  was  typical  of  the  way  in  which  time 
passed  in  those  unprogressive  days.  There  is  a  character 
istic  pertness  and  unsteadiness  about  the  ticking  of  clocks 
nowadays — sharp-set,  jerky  things,  with  brass  inside. 

Roxy  lit  a  candle  and  set  it  upon  the  round  center-table 
of  cherry-wood  which  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  the 
floor  of  which  was  covered  with  bright  new  rag-carpet ;  and 
then,  while  Whittaker  sat  in  the  red,  gilt-striped,  .rocking 
arm-chair,  she  sat  upon  a  straight-back,  splint-bottom  rocker 
swaying  herself  gently  to  and  fro  as  she  knitted  and  talked. 
A  malediction  on  the  evil  genius  who  invented  knitting 


A   GENRE  PIECE.  57 

machines !  There  nevei  was  any  accompaniment  to  talk 
like  the  click  of  knitting-needles.  The  employment  of  the 
fingers  gives  relief  from  all  nervousness,  gives  excuse  for 
all  silence,  gives  occasion  for  droopings  of  the  eyes,  while 
it  does  not  in  fact  preoccupy  the  mind  at  all.  And  then 
let  us  forever  maintain  with  sweet  Charles  Lamb,  that 
there  is  no  light  like  candle-light ;  it  gives  the  mixed  light 
and  shadovv^o  much  prized  by  the  old  painters.  Indeed, 
Roxy  looked  like  a  figure  out  of  an  ancient  picture,  as  she 
sat  there  with  the  high  lights  brought  out  by  the  soft  illu 
mination  of  the  candle,  and  with  her  background  of  visible 
obscurity.  Hers  was  not  what  you  would  call  a  handsome 
face,  in  the  physical  sense.  There  was  no  sensuous  beauty 
of  red  lips  and  softly  rounded  cheeks.  But  it  was  indeed 
a  very  extraordinary  face,  full  of  passionate  ideality,  and 
with  high  enthusiasms  shining  through  it.  I  have  seen 
an  emblematic  face  in  an  illuminated  title  to  the  Gospel 
of  Matthew  that  was  full  of  a  quiet,  heavenly  joy,  as 
though  there  were  good  tidings  within,  ever  waiting  to  be 
told.  This  pure  gladness  there  was  in  Roxy  as  she  looked 
up  now  and  then  from  her  knitting.  It  was  such  a  face 
as  a  master  would  have  loved  to  paint,  and  would  have 
worshipped  after  he  had  painted  it.  So  it  seemed  to 
Whittaker,  as  he  sat  on  one  side  of  the  table  trying  to 
guess  which  it  was  of  all  the  saints  he  had  seen  in  old 
prints  that  she  was  like.  His  eye  took  in  the  mantel-piece 
and  the  old  clock  in  the  corner,  almost  lost  in  the  shadow, 
and,  though  he  was  not  an  artist,  the  sentiment  of  the  pic 
ture  moved  him  deeply. 

Like  most  men  who  have  lived  bookish  lives,  Whittaker 
thought  it  needful  to  adapt  his  speech  to  the  feminine 
understanding.  He  began  talking  to  Roxy  of  her  father, 
her  garden,  her  chickens,  her  friends ;  but  to  all  of  hia 


68  ROXY. 

remarks  or  inquiries  upon  these  subjects  Roxy  answered 
half  absentljr.  The  minister  was  puzzled  by  this,  and 
while  he  debated  what  course  was  best,  the  conversation 
flagged  and  an  awkward  silence  ensued,  which  was  pres 
ently  broken  by  Roxy  asking  him  what  he  thought  of  tho 
experiences  of  President  Edwards's  wife. 

Mr.  Whittaker  started  a  little.  "What  did  a  village  girl, 
and  a  Methodist  at  that,  know  of  the  experiences  of  Jona 
than  Edwards's  wife  ?  This  then  was  the  ground  on  which 
she  was  to  meet  him — not  chickens,  or  garden,  or  girls,  or 
beans !  From  the  experiences  of  Mrs.  Edwards  Roxy 
passed  to  the  saints  in  the  Methodist  calendar — to  Mrs. 
Fletcher,  the  lady  preacher,  to  Mrs.  Hester  Ann  Rogers, 
who  accepted  banishment  to  her  mother's  kitchen  as  a 
penalty  for  her  piety,  and  thence  to  Lady  Huntington, 
who  was  better  known  to  Whittaker.  The  minister  lis 
tened  with  wonder  as  her  face  glowed  with  sympathetic 
enthusiasm  and  thought  he  detected  the  latent  ambition 
to  be  such  a  saint  as  these.  He  was  a  New  Englander, 
and  the  training  of  a  quieter  school  of  religion  had  its 
place  with  him,  but  all  the  more  did  he  wonder  at  finding 
in  the  heart  of  this  imaginative  girl  an  altar  on  which  was 
burning  so  bright  a  flame  of  mystical  devotion.  He 
noticed  that  in  that  face  illuminated  from  within,  there 
was  something  about  the  set  of  the  lip  that  indicated  a 
great  endurance  of  purpose.  This  mysticism  might  come 
to  be  more  than  a  sentiment. 

Mr.  Adams  came  back  again  after  a  while  and  started 
a  discussion  on  the  merits  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  in 
which  Mr.  Whittaker  ought  to  have  been  much  interested. 
But  somehow  he  did  not  now  care  anything  about  the 
justice  or  injustice  of  the  execution  of  the  Due  d'Engliieir 
and  all  the  rasping  paradoxes  whi  th  the  contradictory 


A    GENRE  PIECE.  59 

shoe-maker  could  put  forth  failed  to  arouse  in  him  any 
spirit  of  contradiction.  For  Roxy  had  by  this  time  put 
down  her  knitting  and  was  passing  in  and  out  of  the  room 
attending  to  her  household  duties,  and  the  preacher  had 
come  to  feel  that  somehow  the  red-aiid-yellow,  striped  rag- 
carpet,  and  the  old  clock  and  the  splint-bottom  chairs  were 
made  lovely  by  her  presence.  He  watched  her  as  she 
came  in  and  went  out,  and  wondered  as  he  had  often  won 
dered  before  at  that  look  of  gladness  in  her  face.  He 
heard  Mr.  Adams  say  something  about  Bonaparte's  being 
the  one  man  in  modern  times  who  understood  that  the 
people  needed  to  be  governed.  But  what  did  he  care  for 
Bonaparte,  or  for  modern  times  ?  Here  was  a  saint — a  very 
flesh  and  blood  saint.  A  plague  on  all  Bonapartes  and 
garrulous  shoe-makers ! 

And  so  the  conversation  lagged.  The  preacher  was 
dull.  He  fell  to  agreeing  in  an  imbecile  fashion  with 
everything  Adams  said.  The  latter,  in  sheer  despair, 
vehemently  asserted  that  Napoleon  did  right  to  divorce 
Josephine,  to  which  Mr.  Whittaker  agreed,  not  awaking 
from  his  absent  mood  until  he  saw  the  look  of  surprise  in 
Hoxy's  face.  Then  he  stammered  : 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  know  ;  what  was  T  saying  ?  What  was 
your  remark  ?  I'm  afraid  I  did  not  understand  it.  I 
thought  you  said  Bonaparte  did  right  to  marry  Josephine." 

"  No  ;  to  divorce  her,"  said  Adams.  "  You  are  not  well 
to-night  ? " 

"  No,  not  very — pretty  well  though  for  me :  but  excuse 
me,  I  didn't  mean  to  agree  with  you  about  divorce.  I 
think  Bonaparte  showed  himself  an  atrocious  scoundrel  in 
that  whole  affair." 

"  Oh,  you  do,  do  you  1"  cried  the  other,  pleased  that 
he  had  at  last  started  the  game  from  cover.  But  when  ha 


00  ROXY. 

ended  a  new  eulogy  upon  Bonaparte  and  divorce,  and 
waited  for  another  reply,  Mr.  Whittaker  was  engaged  in 
comparing  a  silhouette  portrait  of  Roxy's  mother  which 
hung  near  the  clock,  with  the  profile  of  Roxy,  who  stood 
at  the  window  looking  under  the  half-raised  curtain  at  the 
crescent  moon  bravely  sailing  its  little  boat  through  a  blue 
sea  beset  with  great,  white,  cloud-bergs  against  which  it 
seemed  ever  about  to  go  to  wreck.  When  Mr.  Adams 
found  that  his  companion  was  not  in  the  least  interested 
in  that  "splendid  prodigy "  which  had  "towered  among 
us  wrapped  in  the  solitude  of  his  own  originality,"  he 
gave  up  in  despair  and  waited  in  the  vain  hope  that  the 
other  would  start  something  which  might  offer  a  better 
chance  for  contradiction.  The  minister,  feeling  embar 
rassed  by  his  own  inattentiveness,  soon  excused  himself 
and  bade  Roxy  and  her  father  good-night.  Once  out  of 
the  house  he  strolled  absently  through  the  common,  then 
back  into  the  town,  under  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  to  his 
home  in  the  house  of  Twonnet  Lefaure's  father. 

The  Swiss  in  that  day  held  rigidly  to  Presbyterianism — 
that  is  to  say,  the  few  who  were  religious  at  all,  attended 
the  Presbyterian  church.  While  they  held  it  to  be  a  deep 
and  eternal  disgrace  for  a  Swiss  to  be  anything  but  a 
Presbyterian,  most  of  them,  like  Twonnet's  father,  did  not 
much  like  a  Presbyterianism  which  forbade  them  to  hunt 
and  fish  on  Sunday  or  to  drink  good  wine.  It  was  not  so 
in  the  old  country  they  declared. 

But  Twoimet's  mother  was  a  Presbyterian  truly  devout, 
and  the  minister  had  sought  board  in  a  Swiss  family  that 
he  might  improve  his  French  pronunciation.  Mrs.  Lefaure 
let  him  in  en  this  evening  with  a  cordial  "  Bon  soir"  and 
a  volley  of  inquiries  beginning  with  "  Ponrquoi?  and 
relating  to  his  reasons  for  not  telling  them  that  he  was 


A   GENRE  PIECE.  61 

going  out  to  tea.  But  when  she  saw  by  the  minister's 
puzzled  look  that  he  only  half  understood  her  rapidly 
spoken  French,  she  broke  into  a  good-natured  laugh  and 
began  to  talk  in  English  with  real  Swiss  volubility  and 
vivacity.  Whittaker  answered  as  best  he  could  in  hi& 
absent  frame  of  mind,  and  soon  managed  to  evade  the 
•hail-storm  of  the  good  woman's  loquacity  by  bidding  the 
family  good  night  and  ascending  to  his  room.  H^  essayed, 
like  a  faithful  and  regular  man  that  he  was,  to  read  a 
chapter  in  the  .Bible  before  going  to  bed,  but  he  sat  near 
the  west  window  and  kept  looking  off  the  book,  at  the 
moon  now  swimming  low  through  the  cloud- breakers  near 
the  western  horizon.  And  he  wondered  what  Koxy  could 
have  been  thinking  of  when  she  was  looking  at  the  sky. 
He  gave  up  the  book  presently  and  knit  his  brow.  It  was 
not  love  but  finance  that  engaged  his  thought.  How 
might  an  honorable  man  marry  while  his  salary  consisted 
chiefly  of  a  pittance  of  two  hundred  dollars  a  year  which 
the  Home  Missionary  Society  allowed  him  as  a  stipend  for 
founding  a  feeble  Presbyterian  church  in  a  village  already 
blessed  with  a  Baptist  church  and  a  Methodist — and  that 
when  the  young  man  owed  a  debt  of  five  hundred  dollars 
incurred  in  getting  his  education,  toward  the  liquidation 
of  which  he  could  manage  now  to  put  by  just  twenty -five 
dollars  a  year  ?  This  question  puzzled  him  and  rendered 
him  abstracted  while  he  was  at  his  prayers ;  it  kept  him 
awake  until  long,  long  after  the  moon's  shallop  had  made 
safe  harbor  behind  the  hills. 

Roxy  was  not  kept  awake  :  she  only  delayed  long  enough 
to  read  her  Bible  and  pray  and  to  enter  in  her  diary : 

"  Had  a  very  refreshing  conversation  this  evening 
with  Mr.  Whittaker  about  the  remarkable  experiences 
of  Mrs.  Edwards,  and  the  holy  lives  of  Lady  Hunting' 


62  ROXT. 

ton,  Mrs.  Rogers  and  Mrs.  Fletcher.  Oh,  that  the  Lord 
would  prepare  me  to  do  and  suffer  for  Him  in  the  sama 
spirit ! " 

The  outer  form  of  this  entry  was  borrowed  no  doubt 
from  the  biographies  she  read.  But  the  spirit  was  Roxy's 
own. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

TWONNET. 

.MR.  "W  HITTAKER  carefully  abstained  from  going  often 
to  Mr.  Aiams's  after  the  evening  of  his  conversation  with 
Roxy.  For  at  the  breakfast  table  next  morning  Twonnet 
had  turned  the  conversation  to  her  friend.  She  spoke 
seriously — as  seriously  as  she  could — but  there  was  mischief, 
lurking  in  the  twinkle  of  her  black  eyes  as  she  praised 
Roxy  and  watched  the  minister's  face,  which  was  paler 
than  usual  this  morning.  Her  Swiss  tongue  mu^t  go  about 
something,  and  nothing  excited  her  enthusiasm  more  than 
the  virtues  of  Roxy  Adams. 

"  She's  perfection,"  said  Twonnet  with  moderation. 
"  She's  just  perfection,  Mr.  Whittaker,  and  nothing  less." 

"  She  seems  a  very  nice  girl  indeed,"  said  the  minister 
guardedly ;  but  his  reserve  only  amused  Twonnet  all  the 
more,  for  now  she  laughed  that  clear,  ringing  laugh  that 
is  characteristic  of  Swiss  girls  ;  while  every  brown  curl  ou 
her  head  shook. 

"  Qtfas-tuf"  said  her  father, 'reproachfully. 

"  Oh,  let  her  laugh,  Mr.  Lef  aure,"  said  Whittaker ; 
"  Twonnet's  fun  is  always  good-natured  ;  but  to  save  my 
life  I  couldn't  tell  what  she  is  laughing  at." 

"  Because  you  said  that  Roxy  was  a  very  nice  person, 
Mr.  Whittaker.  You  could  almost  say  that  of  me  now, 
and  I  am  nobody  along  side  of  Roxy ;  nobody  but  a " 

"A  giggler,"  said  the  mother  with  a  quiet  chuckle,  the 
wrinkles  about  the  corners  of  her  eyes  showing  plainly 


64  ROXT. 

that  she  had  been  what  Twonnet  was  then.     For  a  heart} 
chuckle  is  the  old  age  of  a  giggle. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Mr.  Whittaker,"  said  Twonnet,  sij* 
ping  her  coffee  and  looking  at  the  minister  under  her  eye 
brows,  "  Roxy  is  the  kind  of  a  person  that  people  put  in 
books.  Saint  Iloxy,  how  would  that  sound  ? "  This  last 
was  half  soliloquy.  "Roxy  is  the  kind  of  person  that 
would  feel  obliged  to  anybody  who  would  give  her  a 
chance  to  be  a  martyr." 

"  Toinette?  said  the  father,  shaking  his  head,  "  tais- 
toi  !  "  He  was  annoyed  now  because  the  younger  children, 
seeing  that  Twonnet  meant  mischief,  began  to  laugh. 

"  I'm  not  saying  any  harm,"  replied  the  daring  girl,  with 
roguish  solemnity.  "I  only  said  that  Roxy  would  like  to 
be  a  martyr,  and  you  think  I  mean  that  she  would  even 
marry  a  minister.  I  didn't  say  that." 

The  children  tittered.  Whittaker's  pale  face  reddened 
a  little,  and  he  laughed  heartily  ;  but  this  time  the  father 
frowned  and  stamped  his  foot  in  emphasis  of  his  sharp 
"  Tais-toi,  Toinette^je  te  dis  !  " 

Twonnet  knew  by  many  experiments  the  precise  limit 
^f  safe  disobedience  to  her  father.  There  was  an  implied 
threat  in  his  "  Je  te  dis"  and  she  now  reddened  and  grew 
silent  with  a  look  of  injured  innocence. 

If  Twonnet  had  had  a  lurking  purpose  to  promote  the 
acquaintance  between  Whittaker  and  Roxy  Adams,  she 
had  defeated  herself  by  her  suggestion,  for  Whittaker 
hardly  went  near  the  old  hewed-log  house  again  in  months. 
His  foible  was  his  honor,  and  one  in  his  situation  could 
not  think  of  marriage,  and,  as  he  reasoned,  ought  not  to 
make  talk  which  might  injure  Roxy's  interests  if  not  his 
own.  Twonnet  was  disappointed,  and  with  her  disappoint 
ment  there  was  a  lugubrious  feeling  that  she  had  made  a 


TWONNET.  65 

mistake.  She  said  no  more  about  Roxy,  but  she  continued 
to  tease  the  minister  gently  about  other  things,  just  because 
it  was  her  nature  to  tease.  Once  Whittaker  had  tried  to 
talk  with  her,  as  became  his  calling,  about  religion ;  but 
she  could  not  help  giving  him  droll  replies  which  made 
his  gravity  unsteady,  and  brought  the  interview  to  a  prem 
ature  close. 


CHAPTEK  VIII. 

THE    REVIVAL. 

THERE  was  a  revival  in  the  town.  Do  yon  know  what 
that  means?  In  a  country  village,  where  most  of  the 
time  there  is  a  stagnation  even  in  gossip,  where  a  wed 
ding  of  any  sort  is  a  capital  event,  where  a  funeral  is  of 
universal  interest,  and  where  even  a  birth  is  matter  of 
common  talk,  it  is — all  moral  aspects  of  the  case  aside — a 
great  thing  to  have  a  hurricane  of  excitement  sweep  over 
the  still  waters  of  the  little  pool.  Every  one  of  the  fifteen 
hundred  people  in  the  little  town  knew  that  there  was  a 
revival  "going  on."  Every  one  of  them  carried  in  his 
head  each  day  a  list  of  those  who  had  "been  to  the 
mourner's  bench"  the  night  before,  and  of  those  who 
were  converted ;  and  everybody  knew  who  had  shouted 
or  "  taken  on "  in  any  way  at  the  meetings.  Forlorn 
groups  of  young  men  who  looked  as  though  the  day  of  judg 
ment  were  surely  come,  stood  upon  the  street  corners  and 
discussed  the  fact  that  Bill  Works  had  "  gone  forward  " 
the  evening  before.  Some  thought  he  wouldn't  "  hold  out 
long."  But  the  morning  after  old  Tom  Walters  "  got  re 
ligion,"  the  town  was  convulsed  with  excitement.  He 
was  a  notorious  drunkard,  and  when  he  was  converted 
there  did  seem  something  eupernaturally  awful  about  it. 
To  see  Tom  sober  was  like  seeing  a  dead  man  alive.  Few 
were  living  now  who  could  remember  when  Walters  had 
been  entirely  sober  before.  There  was  many  a  man  read^ 
to  assure  you  that  he'd  "  seen  a  good  many  of  these  roar 


THE  REVIVAL.  67 

ing  excitements  in  his  time,"  and  that  they  "all  died 
down  afore  hay-harvest,"  and  "  old  Tom  Walters  would 
be  drunker'n  ever,  time  the  corn  crop  was  laid  by."  And 
yet,  and  yet,  all  this  spoken  in  a  voice  a  little  tremulous 
did  have  an  air  of  grave-yard  whistling. 

There  were  the  scoffers,  however,  who  laughed,  and 
who  banded  together  to  laugh.  The  best  man  among 
them  was  Ben  Thomas,  who  laughed  in  the  preacher's 
face,  when  he  was  going  through  the  congregation  exhort 
ing.  The  preacher,  a  slender  Boanerges,  had  rebuked 
him  from  the  pulpit,  and  this  had  given  Ben  a  still 
greater  prominence  among  his  fellows.  But  when  two  of 
Ben's  cronies,  after  a  fiery  and  prophet-like  denunciation 
from  the  preacher,  became  frightened,  and  came  cowed 
and  bellowing  to  the  "  mourner's  bench,"  even  Ben's 
voice  grew  a  little  tremulous  as  he  saw  himself  the  for 
lorn  hope  of  the  opposition.  But  all  the  thunders  of  the 
preacher  could  not  bring  him  down.  He  was  too  much 
flattered  by  his  unique  position.  It  was  better  to  be  the 
devil  than  to  be  nobody  in  particular,  and  Ben  would 
have  faced  perdition  itself  for  the  sake  of  gratifying  his 
love  of  bravado. 

All  this  storm  was  raised  by  the  new  Methodist  preach 
er,  a  man  who  had  been  a  mechanic  until  religion  seized 
upon  his  enthusiastic  spirit.  Since  that  time  he  had  been 
a  blazing  torch  of  religious  excitement,  sweeping  like  a 
prairie  lire  over  every  region  to  which  the  conference  had 
assigned  him.  In  the  autumn,  after  the  August  election, 
he  had  been  sent  to  Luzerne.  In  November,  General 
Harrison  and  his  log- cabin  were  elected  to  the  presidency 
Now,  the  ebb  tide  of  political  or  financial  excitement 
often  ends  in  becoming  a  flood  tide  of  religious  excite 
ment.  It  is  a  resolution  of  force,  not  easily  accounted  for, 


68  ROX7. 

but  very  easily  seen.     So  that  Mr.  Dale's  revival  took  on 
proportions  surprising  even  to  his  faith  and  enterprise. 

Mr.  Whittaker  was  a  New  Englander,  and  to  him  this 
revival  was  something  appalling.  Not  that  he  did  not  be 
lieve  in  revivals;  but  he  believed  in  revivals  like  Dr. 
Pay  son's  and  Jonathan  Edwards's — of  the  quiet,  awful, 
and  pervasive  kind,  which  would  not  have  been  possible 
among  the  inflammable  people  on  the  Ohio  in  the  last 
generation.  Mr.  Whittaker,  believing  that  some  good 
must  be  done  in  spite  of  the  "  wild-fire  "  thought  it  no  more 
than  right  that  he  should  attend  the  Methodist  meetings. 
He  could  not  do  this  in  any  spirit  of:  patronage  as  he 
might  have  done  in  New  England,  for  here  the  Methodists 
were  more  than  half  the  town.  Still  he  could  not  but 
feel  that  it  would  be  a  condescension  for  a  college-bred 
man  like  himself  to  lend  his  countenance  to  these  people 
whose  minister  had  laid  down  his  hatter's  bow  to  become 
a  preacher  on  an  education  consisting  chiefly  of  a  reading 
of  Wesley's  Sermons  and  Clarke's  Commentary.  He 
went  one  evening  and  did  his  best  to  e*et  into  sympathy 
with  the  meeting,  but  the  loud  praying,  the  constant  in 
terruptions  of  responsive  "  Amens"  and  other  ejaculatory 
cries,  the  kneeling  mourners  weeping  and  sobbing,  fifty 
at  a  time,  in  the  space  around  the  pulpit,  the  public 
prayer  offered  by  women,  the  pathetic  melodies  and 
choruses,  the  occasional  shouting — these  and  a  hundred 
other  things  offended  his  prejudices  and  grated  on  liia 
sense  of  propriety.  He  wondered  how  Roxy  could  seem 
oblivious  to  the  din  about  her  as  she  moved  among  the 
penitents  on  the  women's  side  of  the  house,  to  comfort 
whom  was  her  special  vm-aiimi.  lie  saw  how  everybody 
loved  her,  how  the  gladness  of  her  face  seemed  to  mollify 
the  terribloness  of  Dale's  fiery  preaching.  It  happened 


TEE  REVIVAL.  69 

to  be  the  very  night  of  old  Torn  Walter's  "  start,"  and 
Whittaker  saw  that  after  the  old  man  had  wept  and  cried, 
lying  prone  upon  the  floor  during  the  whole  evening,  he 
seemed  not  a  little  cheered  by  the  words  which  sister 
Roxy  spoke  to  him  at  the  close  of  the  meeting ;  not  bx 
the  words  perhaps,  but  by  the  radiant  face  and  hopeful 
tone. 

But  Whittaker  did  not  go  again.  How  could  he  ?  To 
him  this  religious  intoxication  was  profanation,  and  he 
wrote  a  strong  letter  to  the  Home  Missionary  Society  set 
ting  forth  the  "wild  and  semi-barbarous  character"  of 
many  of  the  religious  services  at  the  West,  and  urging 
the  importance  of  sending  men  to  plant  "an  intelligent 
and  thoughtful  Christianity  "  in  its  place.  This  was  be 
cause  he  was  an  exotic.  The  religion  which  he  despised 
was  indigenous.  A  better  and  more  thoughtful  Chris 
tianity  has  grown  as  the  people  have  grown  thoughtful. 
But  it  has  developed  on  the  ground.  It  is  not  chiefly 
New  England  thoughtfulness,  but  the  home  growth  of 
Western  intelligence  that  has  done  it. 

But  though  Whittaker  washed  his  hands  of  this  ranting 
revivalism  he  wished  that  he  were  free  to  dislike  it  wholly. 
Tom  Walters,  he  reflected,  would  no  doubt  slip  back  into 
the  mire  as  soon  as  the  excitement  was  over,  but  in  all 
this  ingathering  there  must  be  some  good  grain.  And  so 
he  found  himself  in  that  state  which  is  least  comfortable 
of  all — his  sympathy  dividing  the  ground  with  his  antipa 
thy.  And  such  is  the  solidarity  of  people  in  a  village 
that  an  excitement  of  this  sort  is  sure  to  affect  everybody, 
sooner  or  later.  Whittaker  soon  saw  in  his  own  congrega 
tion  an  unusual  solemnity.  He  was  unwilling  to  admit 
that  the  Methodist  revival  had  influenced  him,  but  he 
found  himself  appealing  more  earnestly  than  ever  to  his 


70  ROXT. 

few  hearers  to  become  religions.  He  found  himself  ex 
pecting  something.  What  to  do  he  did  not  know.  -At 
last  he  appointed  an  "Inquiry  Meeting"  at  the  close  ol 
his  Sunday  evening  service.  Just  one  person  remained  as 
an  "  inquirer."  To  Mr.  Whittaker's  amazement  this  was 
T  won  net.  There  were  others  a  week  later,  but  that  tha 
first  should  be  the  volatile  Twonnet,  whose  gay  banter  and 
chaffer  had  made  him  afraid  to  speak  to  her  seriously, 
quite  upset  him.  After  the  inquiry  meeting  was  over 
and  he  had  seated  himself  alone  in  the  little  parlor  at  Mr. 
Lefaure's,  where  a  melancholy  ticking  was  kept  up  by  an 
old  Swiss  clock  screwed  to  the  wall,  with  its  weights  and 
pendulum  hanging  exposed  below,  he  looked  into  the 
blazing  fire  on  the  hearth  and  wondered  how  it  was  that 
Twonnet,  who,  at  supper  that  very  evening,  had  been  as 
gay  as  ever,  should  have  suddenly  remained  to  an  inquiry 
meeting.  He  tried  to  think  what  there  was  unusual  in 
his  sermon  that  might  have  impressed  her. 

Just  then  the  brass  knob  of  the  door  was  turned  hesi 
tantly,  the  old-fashioned  latch,  big  at  one  end  and  little 
at  the  other,  was  raised  with  a  snap,  and  the  door  waa 
opened  a  little  way  by  Twonnet,  who  immediately  began 
to  close  it  irresolutely. 

"  Come  in,  Twonnet,"  said  the  minister  gravely. 

Thus  reassured,  Twonnet  entered,  took  up  the  broom 
mechanically  and  swept  the  ashes  on  the  hearth  into  the 
fire-place,  set  the  broom  down  and  stood  haltingly  by  the 
fire. 

"  Sit  down,  Twonnet,"  said  Whittaker  gently,  as 
though  he  were  addressing  a  little  ch'ld.  "How  long 
have  you  been  thinking  seriously  about  becoming  a. Chris 
tian  V 

"  Ever  since  I  can  remember." 


THE  REVIVAL.  71 

"Yes,  yes,  but  lately." 

"  All  the  time."  Then  after  a  pause,  "  I  would  like  to 
be  as  good  as  Roxy,  but  I  can't.  I  can't  be  serious  long 
at  a  time,  I'll  be  laughing  and  teasing  somebody  to-mor 
row,  I  suppose.  That's  the  reason  I  haven't  tried  before. 
I  can't  be  much  of  a  Christian  anyhow." 

"  But  divine  grace  can  help  you,"  said  Whittaker,  using 
the  form  of  words  to  which  he  had  always  been  accus 
tomed. 

"  But  divine  grace  won't  make  me  somebody  else,  will 
it?  It  won't  make  me  like  to  look  inside  as  Roxy  does, 
and  to  keep  diaries  and  all  that.  It  won't  make  me  want 
to  be  a  martyr  as  she  does,  I'm  sure.  I'll  never  be  good 
all  over.  It  doesn't  seem  to  make  other  people  all  alike, 
and  I  suppose  I'll  be  the  same  giddy-headed  Twonnet,  as 
long  as  I  live,  and  father  will  have  to  keep  shaking  his 
head  and  saying,  '  Tais-toi,  Toinette]  in  that  awful  way, 
forever.  If  I  ever  get  to  heaven,  I'll  laugh  one  minute 
and  get  mad  the  next,"  and  at  this  she  laughed  in  her 
sudden  mercurial  fashion. 

The  minister  was  silent.  He  was  afraid  to  say  any 
thing  that  might  discourage  her.  There  was  not  a  trace 
of  cant  or  mimicry  in  her  piety.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
it  seemed  to  him  that  there  was  a  strange  lack  of  the 
seriousness  which  he  had  always  been  taught  was  the  first 
step  of  a  Christian  life.  The  cool  Saxon  New  Englander 
was  trying  to  apply  Puritan  rules  to  one  of  a  different 
race. 

"  But  I  thought,"  continued  Twonnet,  gravely,  "  that, 
if  I  couldn't  be  as  good  as  I  wanted  to,  I  would  just  try 
to  be  as  good  as  I  could."  And  here  she  began  to  shed 
tears.  "  I  thought  that  was  the  common-sense  way.  I've 
got  a  temper — all  of  us  Swiss  have.  But  then  we  don't 


ri  ROXY. 

stay  mad,  and  that's  a  good  thing."     Here  she  laughed 
again.     "Any  way,  I'm  going  to  do  my  best." 

Mr.  Whittaker  thought  it  safe  to  approve  of  this  last 
resolution,  though  the  girl  was  a  puzzle  to  him.  This  cer 
tainly  was  not  an  experience  according  to  the  common 
standard.  He  could  not  dissect  it  and  label  its  parts  with 
the  approved  scientific  names. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  MEMBER  FROM  LUZERNE. 

DURING  this  revival  regret  was  often  expressed,  that 
Mark  Bonamy  was  absent.  If  he  were  at  home  he  might 
be  converted,  and  his  conversion  would  tell  upon  the 
other  young  men  of  the  town.  And  then  he  might  come 
to  be  a  preacher.  What  a  preacher  he  would  make ! 
He  would  doubtless  become  a  famous  presiding  elder  like 
John  Strange  or  Allen  Wiley.  He  might  some  day  get 
to  be  a  great  bishop  like  Elijah  Hedding.  But  he  was 
away  attending  the  session  of  the  legislature.  None  re 
gretted  this  more  than  his  mother,  a  devout  Methodist, 
who  prayed  day  and  night  that  the  son  who  "  had  wan 
dered  into  paths  of  worldly  pleasure  and  ambition" 
might  be  "  led  to  ground  the  arms  of  his  rebellion  and  en 
list  under  the  banner  of  the  cross." 

As  for  Mark,  his  ambition  seemed  in  a  fair  way  to  be 
gratified.  For  the  first  time  the  state  government  was  in 
the  control  of  the  Whigs.  He  had  happened  to  change 
just  in  time  to  come  in  on  the  rising  wave,  and  all  Lu- 
zerne  recognized  him  now  as  destined  to  become  a  dis 
tinguished  citizen.  Some  days  before  the  time  for  the 
legislature  to  meet,  Mark  buckled  on  his  leggings,  packed 
his  saddle-bags,  and  mounted  his  horse.  He  rode  for  four 
days  through  thick  yellow  clay,  soft  enough  to  let  his 
horse  sink  down  one  or  two  feet  at  nearly  every  step, 
arriving  late  in  the  evening  of  the  fourth  day  at  Indian-, 
apolis,  a  straggling  muddy  village  in  a  heavily  wooded 
4 


74  *        ROXY. 

morass.  The  newly  projected  capital  had  been  laid  off 
with  true  Hoosier  'magnificence  and  hopefulness.  Tho 
governor's  house — remarkable  for  a  homely  bigness  and  a 
dirty  color — stood  in  the  middle,  surrounded  by  a  cireu 
lar  street  which  left  his  excellency's  family  no  back  yard 
— all  sides  were  front.  Around  this  focus  most  of  the 
new  wooden  churches  were  built,  so  that  the  people  going 
to  meeting  might  inspect  the  governor's  wood-pile  and 
count  the  inmates  of  his  chicken-coop,  whose  death-war 
rants  had  not  yet  been  signed.  Outside  of  the  "  circle  " 
the  city  was  laid  off  with  nice  j-ectangularity,  except  that 
four  great  diagonal  avenues  running  from  the  center  gave 
the  town,  on  the  map,  the  appearance  of  a  blazing  sun  in 
a,  cheap  picture.  Nowadays,  when  more  than  a  hundred 
thousand  people  have  filled  up  this  radiant  outline  with 
many  costly  buildings,  and  when  the  unsightly  "gover 
nor's  mansion  "  having  ceased  to  exist,  no  longer  presents 
its  back  door  to  the  Episcopal  church,  the  beautif11! 
Iloosicr  metropolis  has  justified  the  hopes  of  its  projec 
tors.  But  in  Eonamy's  time  the  stumps  stood  in  the 
streets ;  the  mud  was  only  navigable  to  a  man  on  a  tall 
horse ;  the  buildings  were  ugly  and  unpainted ;  the 
people  were  raw  immigrants  dressed  in  butternut  jeans, 
and  for  the  most  part  afflicted  either  with  the  "  agur  "  or 
the  "yaller  janders";  the  taverns  were  new  wooden  build 
ings  with  swinging  signs  that  creaked  in  the  wind,  their 
floors  being  well  coated  with  a  yellow  adobe  from  the 
boots  of  the  guests.  The  alkaline  biscuits  on  the  table 
were  yellow  like  the  floors;  the  fried  "  middling"  looked 
much  the  same,  the  general  yellowness  had  extended  to 
the  walls  and  the  bed-clothing,  and  combined  with  the 
butternut  jeans  and  copperas- dyed  linsey-woolsey  of  the 
clothes,  i1;  gave  the  universe  an  air  of  having  the  jaundice. 


THE  MEMBER  FROM  LUZERNK        75 

It  is  quite  depressing  to  a  man  who  has  been  the  great 
man  of  his  town,  and. who  has  been  duly  commissioned  to 
Borne  deliberative  body,  to  find  that  all"  his  fellow-mem 
bers  consider  themselves  the  central  objects  of  inteiest. 
Mark  was  neglected  at  first  by  all  except  those  members 
who  wanted  to  get  state  roads  or  other  projects  of  local 
interest  carried  through  the  house.  He  was  only  "the 
young  fellow  from  Luzerne."  Nevertheless,  after  he  had 
made  his  maiden  speech  on  the  necessity  for  internal  im 
provements  by  the  general  government,  he  was  more 
highly  esteemed.  A  young  man  with  so  telling  a  style  of 
declamation^ was  not  to  be  slighted.  A  shrewd  old  mem 
ber  nodded  to  his  neighbor  as  Mark  sat  down  at  the  close 
of  his  effort,  and  said,  "  Congress  some  day."  For  that 
was  the  day  before  the  reign  of  newspapers.  Declama 
tion  was  the  key  to  promotion. 

One  day  when  the  session  was  drawing  to  its  close,  a 
messenger  came  for  Bonamy.  The  man  had  ridden  hard 
over  frozen  ground  for  two  days,  and  now  with  horse  worn 
out,  he  came  to  tell  Mark  that  his  mother  was  dying  of 
one  of  those  bilious  fevers  which  made  the  West  a  grave 
yard  in  those  days.  Mark  was  a  man  of  strong  feeling. 
He  had  often  disregarded  the  advice  of  his  mother,  but 
she  was  the  good  influence  of  his  life,  so  that  it  was  with 
a  mixed  emotion  of  grief  and  remorse  that  he  mounted 
his  horse  and  turned  his  back  upon  the  legislature, 
then  in  its  last  week,  to  make  a  forced  ride  of  eighty 
miles  in  two  days  over  frozen  roads  of  horrible  rough 
ness,  with  only  the  faintest  hope  of  seeing  his  mother 
alive. 

But  Death  does  not  wait  for  us.  "When  Mark  rode 
his  tired  horse  up  to  his  father's  gate,  the  serious  faces  of 
those  who  met  him  at  the  door  told  that  he  was  too  late. 


76  ROXT. 

It  only  remained  to  receive  her  blessing  at  second-hand 
from  the  old  women  who  had  been  with  her  to  the  last, 
and  who  gave  her  messages  to  Mark  in  a  tone  that  seemed 
to  say :  "  Now,  you  reprobate,  you !  don't  you  feel  mean 
that  you  did  not  repent  as  your  mother  wanted  you  to  ? 
Now  you  see  in  a  time  like  this  how  superior  to  you  we 
pious  people  are ;  aha ! "  It  is  the  persuasive  way  of 
some  people — this  crowing  over  a  sinner.  Mark  wouldn't 
have  taken  a  short  step  in  the  direction  of  Paradise,  on 
any  account  just  then. 

His  two  sisters  were  full  of  sorrow,  though  Amanda, 
the  elder,  showed  it  in  a  severe  and  dignified  way  quite 
becoming  in  a  Bonamy.  Even  Colonel  Bonamy  looked 
softened — just  a  little. 

Mrs.  Bonamy  was  buried  after  the  village  custom.  The 
funeral  tickets  were  distributed  on  the  day  of  her  death. 
The  little  printing-office  conducted  by  the  editor,  pub 
lisher,  proprietor,  and  printer  of  the  "  Weekly  Palladium," 
and  one  small  boy,  kept  a  black  ornamental  border  all  set 
up  for  funeral  tickets.  The  type  of  the  set  phrases,  such 
as  "Yourself  and  family  are  respectfully  invited,"  were 
never  distributed;  the  name,  and  date,  and  hour  only 
were  changed  as  occasion  required.  As  soon  as  the  tickets 
for  Mrs.  Bcnamy's  funeral  were  ordered,  the  printer  set 
the  form  of  the  funeral  ticket  on  the  imposing-stone  and 
proceeded  to  make  the  alterations  needful  to  render  it 
appropriate  to  the  present  occasion.  He  pulled  it  apart, 
placed  the  lines  needing  change  in  his  composing-stick, 
took  out  the  name  of  Job  Raymond,  the  last,  deceased,  and 
replaced  it  wTith  Mrs.  Bonamy's,  changed  the  dates  and 
other  particulars,  "justified"  the  lines,  and  then  replaced 
them  in  the  form,  and  proceeded  to  "  lock  it  up."  In  a 
short  time  the  small  inky  boy  was  rolling  and  the  editoj 


THE  MEMBER  FROM  LUZERNS, 


77 


was  working  off  with  an  old  hand-press  little  tickets  much 
like  this : 


£ 


Yourself  and  family  are  respectfully  invited  to 
attend  the  funeral  of  OLIVIA  W.  BONAMY,  from 
the  residence  of  her  husband,  DANIEL  K.  BONAMY, 
on  Wednesday,  February  19th,  1841,  at  one 
o'clock  P.M. 


You  will  find  many  of  these  tickets  laid  away  between 
the  leaves  of  old  books  in  Luzerne.  When  the  proper 
number  were  printed,  the  inky,  impish-looking  lad  made  a 
feint  of  washing  his  hands,  put  on  his  round-about,  and 
started  out  to  distribute  them,  with  the  greater  part  of  hia 
face  in  appropriate  mourning.  He  did  not  go  to  certain 
select  families  set  down  on  a  pre-arranged  list.  A  small 
town  is  democratic ;  the  tickets  were  left  at  every  house, 
and  you  might  have  seen  the  village  folks  discussing  the 
matter  over  their  division  fences.  For  people  must  dis 
cuss  something — it  is  the  great  preventive  of  insanity. 
So  now  every  symptom  of  Mrs.  Bonamy's  disease  was  gone 
over,  and  what  Mrs.  So-and-so  said  about  it  three  days  ago, 
and  what  the  doctor  thought,  and  when  "the  change7' 
took  place,  and  who  were  "  sitting  up  the  night  she  died," 
and  whether  she  "  died  happy  "  or  not,  and  what  she  said, 
and  whether  the  corpse  looked  "  natural,"  and  how  old  she 


78  ROXT. 

was,  and  "  what  time  Mark  got  home,"  and  how  he  "  took 
it,"  and  how  "  the  old  colonel  took  it,"  and  whether  ha 
would  stay  an  infidel  or  not,  and  how  Amanda  "took  it," 
and  whether  the  girl  had  much  heart  or  not,  and  whether 
the  old  man  would  marry  again,  and  what  he  would  do 
about  his  family,  and  whether  Mark  would  get  "under 
conviction  "  or  not,  and  whether  he  would  make  a  preacher 
if  he  was  converted.  But  everybody  was  agreed  that, 
coining  just  at  this  time,  it  was  a  "  mighty  solemn  call"  to 
Mark,  and  Jemima  Dumbleton  expressed  herself  very 
positively  on  this  point.  She  said  he  needed  a  solemn  call, 
"  Fer  that  ere  Mark  Bonamy,"  she  went  on,  "  haint  got  110 
other  god  but  Mark  Bonamy.  And  worshipin'  his  self  is 
mighty  like  bowin1  down  to  a  god  of  brass,  or  to  Aaron's 
calf,  so  it  seems  to  me." 

The  funeral  took  place  like  all  the  other  village  funerals 
of  that  day.  First  the  minister  preached  a  sermon  of 
warning  and  consolation  to  the  living,  reviewing  and 
eulogizing  the  life  of  the  deceased.  Then  there  was  a 
procession,  which  included,  beside  the  wagon  on  which 
the  coffin  rested,  some  old  family  carriages  or  carry-alls, 
several  buggies,  one  gig,  fifteen  people  from  the  country 
on  horseback,  and  a  long  line  afoot,  with  the  usual  number 
of  stragglers  and  small  bo}rs,  who  ran  alongside  because  it 
was  a  procession.  These  small  boys  reached  the  grave 
yard  in  advance  of  the  rest  and  perched  themselves  high 
on  the  fences,  where  they  could  see  all  that  might  take 
place.  They  were  not  noisy,  though  they  showed  much 
excitement — this  was  a  spectacle,  and  any  spectacle  is  a 
godsend  to  a  village  lad.  Whether  it  is  a  muster,  or  a 
funeral,  a  circus,  or  a  "  baptizing,"  matters  not  to  him, — • 
BO  that  something  goes  on  and  he  sees  it. 

The  coffin  was  lowered,  the  Methodist  service  was  read, 


THE  MEMBER  FROM  LUZERNE.  79 

the  grave  was  quickly  filled  and  rounded  up  with  the 
spades  of  kindly  neighbors, — after  which  the  minister  said 
that  he  "  was  requested  on  behalf  of  the  family  of  the  de 
ceased  to  thank  the  friends  who  had  shown  so  much  kind 
ness  during  her  illness."  Then  he  pronounced  the  bene 
diction,  and  the  small  boys  leaped  from  the  fences  and  hur 
ried  away  pell-mell  for  the  town,  while  the  friends  slowly 
dispersed,  the  wintry  winds  playing  a  pathetic  requiem 
in  the  frozen  and  vibrant  boughs  of  the  clump  of  weeping 
willows  which  keep,  even  unto  this  day,  a  perpetual  vigil 
over  the  graves  of  the  village  dead,  while  generation  follows 
generation  to  the  lonely  sleeping-place. 

It  was  some  time  during  the  next  day  that  Mark  Bonanry 
went  to  see  Roxy  Adams,  to  thank  her  for  her  faithful 
kindness  to  his  mother,  and  receive  some  messages  that 
the  mother  had  left  in  the  keeping  of  Roxy.  In  his  pres 
ent  state  of  mind  Mark  was  a  little  afraid  of  Eoxy.  But 
he  was  ill  at  ease  in  his  conscience,  and  he  gave  himself 
much  credit  for  submitting  to  Roxy's  exhortations.  It 
showed  that  he  was  not  so  very  bad,  after  all. 

Roxy  did  not  take  the  lofty  and  patronizing  stand  he 
expected.  There  was  something  so  strange  and  persua 
sive  in  the  earnestness  with  which  the  eager  girl  spoke  of 
his  mother,  something  so  touching  in  her  enthusiastic 
appeals  to  his  conscience  through  his  natural  affection, 
that  Bonamy,  who  was  full  of  sensibility,  found  himself 
strangely  affected  by  it.  He  was  always  susceptible  to 
female  influence,  but  he  found  that  Roxy  called  out  what'- 
was  best  in  him.  He  readily  promised  her  that  he  would 
go  to  meeting  that  night,  and  he  kept  his  word. 

He  expected  to  be  touched  by  the  absence  of  his  mother, 
who  had  always  been  a  prominent  figure  in  the  meetings. 
But  there  was  so  much  change,  that  he  did  not  feel  his 


80  ROXY. 

mother's  absence  as  he  thought  to  feel  it.  The  old,  im- 
painted  and  unfenced,  brick  meeting-house  with  its  round- 
top  front  windows  and  its  fan-light  over  the  door,  was  the 
same  "Within  there  were  the  same  stiff  benches  with 
awkward  backs  consisting  of  two  narrow  boards  far  apart, 
the  same  unpainted  pulpit  with  posts  on  either  side  sup 
porting  candles  in  brass  candlesticks,  the  same  rusty  box- 
Btove  sitting  in  the  middle  of  the  aisle,  and  the  same  hang 
ing  tin  chandeliers  with  candles  at  every  stage  of  con 
sumption.  The  same  tall,  kindly  sexton,  a  man  with  one 
eye,  went  round  as  before,  taking  careful  sight  on  a  can 
dle  and  then,  when  sure  of  his  aim,  suddenly  snuffing  it, 
gently  parting  the  wick  afterward  to  increase  the  light, 
then  opening  the  stove  door  with  a  clatter  and  pushing  in 
a  piece  of  wood.  It  was  all  as  of  old,  but  all  so  different. 
The  young  men  with  whom  Mark  had  had  many  a  wild 
spree,  sat  no  longer  back  near  the  door  in  the  seat  of  the 
scornful  but  in  the  "  amen  corner ;  "  the  giddiest  girls  he 
had  ever  waltzed  with  were  at  this  moment  joining  with 
Roxy  and  the  rest  in  singing  that  plaintive  melody : 

"  Our  bondage  here  shall  end, 
By  and  by — by  and  by." 

When  one  follows  in  the  track  of  a  storm  one  measures 
the  force  by  the  uprooted  trees  and  the  shattered  branches. 
So  Mark,  seeing  all  at  oixee  the  effects  of  the  revival,  felt 
that  the  town  had  been  subjected  to  a  fearful  power,  and 
the  sense  of  this  invisible  power  almost  overwhelmed  him. 
Then,  too,  he  was  as  one  who  beholds  all  his  friends  sitting 
guests  at  a  feast  while  he  shivers  without  in  cold  and 
darkness.  The  preacher's  words  were  evidently  leveled 
at  him.  Dale  knew,  as  all  revivalists  do,  the  value  of  natu 


THE  MEMBER  FROM  LUZERNE.  81 

ral  sensibility  as  a  sort  of  priming  for  religious  feeling; 
he  touched  with  strong  emphasis  on  "  praying  mothers," 
and  "  friends  gone  before,"  and  on  probable  separations 
in  the  world  to  come,  and  Mark  felt  the  full  force  of  the 
whole  tide  of  magnetic  feeling  in  the  audience  turned  on 
himself. 

He  sought  diversion  in  looking  about.  But  this  was 
vain.  Those  who  had  not  yet  "  made  a  start,"  looked 
full  of  grave  apprehension.  One  or  two  stood  like  trees 
unscathed  by  the  blast.  Ben  Thomas  was  as  full  of  mock 
ery  as  ever.  He  looked  at  Mark  and  nodded,  saying : 

"  He  means  you,  Mark.  He  loves  a  shining  Mark ! 
Ain't  you  under  conviction  yet  ?  " 

But  his  horrible  scoffing  at  everything,  which  to  any 
body  else  seemed  sacred,  only  reacted  on  Mark,  and  made 
him  ready  to  put  any  gap  between  himself  and  Ben. 
Near  Ben  sat  Major  Tom  Lathers,  tall  and  stringy  and 
solemn.  He  kept  himself  forever  "  in  an  interesting  state 
of  mind"  in  order  that  religious  people  might  encourage 
him  by  furthering  his  political  aims.  Lathers  made 
every  church  in  the  village  believe  that  he  "  leaned 
toward"  it,  in  preference  to  the  others.  He  talked  to  the 
Methodists  about  his  Methodist  wife,  "  now  dead  and  in 
heaven ;  "  he  told  the  Baptists  about  his  "  good  Baptist 
bringing  up,"  and  spoke  feelingly  to  the  Presbyterians 
about  his  "good  old  Presbyterian  grandmother,"  wl>^ 
taught  him  to  say  his  prayers.  Thus  did  this  exemplary 
man  contrive  to  keep  in  a  perpetual  bond  of  sympathy 
with  his  fellow-men,  regardless  of  sect  or  creed.  Had 
there  been  any  Catholics  and  Jews  in  the  town  he  would 
doubtless  have  discovered  a  Catholic  ancestor  somewhere, 
and  a  strong  leaning  toward  Judaism  on  account  of  hia 
lineal  descent  from  Noah.  Provided  always  that  the  said 


82  EOXT. 

Catholics  and  Jews  had  at  the  least  filed  a  declaration  of 
their  intention  to  become  citizens  of  this  great  republic. 

Mark  knew  Lathers's  hypocrisy  and  hated  it.  But  what 
\vas  his  disgust  when,  catching  the  major's  solemn  eye  and 
following  its  direction,  he  saw  on  the  women's  side  of  the 
church,  decked  out  in  cheap  finery,  Nancy  Kirtley.  She 
sat  next  the  aisle  and  her  splendid  and  self-conscious  face 
was  posed  on  purpose  to  attract  his  attention.  She  had 
come  to  town  to  spend  two  days  at  the  house  of  her 
brother,  the  drayman,  and  had  prolonged  her  stay  when 
she  heard  that  Mark  had  been  sent  for.  She  had  not  felt 
the  revival  excitement.  E-oxy  had  besought  her,  the 
minister  had  preached  at  her,  the  sisters  had  visited  her. 
All  this  nattered  and  pleased  her.  She  liked  to  be  the 
center  of  attention,  and  she  had  managed  on  occasion  to 
squeeze  out  a  tear  or  two  by  way  of  encouraging  the  good 
people  to  keep  up  their  visits.  But  for  her — healthy, 
full-blooded,  well- developed,  beautiful  animal — there  was 
no  world  but  this.  Such  people  are  enough  to  make  one 
doubt  whether  immortality  be  a  gift  so  generally  distrib 
uted  as  we  sometimes  think.  On  this  evening  the  radiant 
Kancy  sat  smiling  among  the  solemn  and  even  tearful 
people  about  her.  Her  shallow  nature  had  no  thought 
now  for  anything  but  her  appearance  and  its  probable 
effect  on  Mark. 

Little  did  Nancy  imagine  what  a  goblin  her  face  was 
t  j  the  young  man.  In  his  present  state  of  mind  she  was 
the  ghost  of  his  former  sins  and  weakness.  The  very 
attraction  he  found  in  her  face  startled  him.  So  at  last 
when  he  went  forward  to  be  prayed  for,  it  was  not  alto 
gether  repentance,  nor  altogether  a  fear  of  perdition,  even, 
but  partly  a  desire  to  get  out  of  the  company  in  which  ho 
found  himself.  Mark  was  hardly  a  free  agent.  lie  was 


THE  MEMBER  FROM  LUZERNE.  83 

a  man  of  impulsive  temperament.  His  glossy,  black,, 
curly  hair  and  well-rounded,  mobile  face  expressed  this. 
In  this  matter  he  floated  in  on  the  tide,  just  as  he  would 
have  floated  out  on  an  evil  tide  had  the  current  set  in  the 
other  direction. 

That  night  Twonnet  went  home  with  Roxy.  For  how 
can  girls  be  friends  without  sleeping  together  ?  Is  it  that 
a  girl's  imagination  is  most  impressed  by  secrets  told  in 
the  dark  ?  I  am  not  a  girl ;  the  secret  of  this  appetency 
for  nocturnal  friendship  is  beyond  me,  but  I  know  that 
when  two  girls  become  friends  their  favorite  trysting  place 
is  sure  to  be  the  land  of  Nod.  So  Twonnet,  having  at 
tended  the  Methodist  meeting,  went  home  with  Roxy. 
And  they  discussed  the  "  start "  which  Mark  had  made. 

"I  don't  just  like  it,"  said  the  Swiss  girl.  "  You  see 
Mark  is  grieved  by  his  mother's  death ;  he  is  sorry  in  a 
general  sort;  of  a  way  that  he  didn't  do  as  she  wanted  him 
to.  But  is  he  sorry  for  any  particular  sins  ?  Now,  when 
a  body  repents  I  don't  believe  in  their  saying,  l  I'm  sorry 
I'm  a  sinner.'  When  I  can  say,  '  I  am  sorry  that  I  get 
mad  so  quick  and  that  I  trouble  other  people,'  then  I 
repent.  Now,  if  Mark  could  say,  *  I'm  sorry  I  was  drunk 
on  such  a  night,  and  that  I  gambled  at  such  a  time,'  it 
would  all  be  well  enough." 

"  How  do  you  know  he  can't  ?  "  asked  Roxy,  somewhat 
warmly.  For  Mark  was  a  friend  of  hers,  and  now  that 
his  conversion  was  partly  the  result  of  her  endeavor,  she 
felt  a  sort  of  proprietary  interest  in  his  Christian  life.  • 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Twonnet,"  she  added  witli  enthusiasm, 
"  it's  a  grand  thing  to  see  a  young  man  who  has  the  glit 
tering  prizes  of  this  world  in  his  reach,  bring  all  his  splen 
did  gifts  and  lay  them  as  a  sacrifice  on  the  altar  of  the 
Lord,  as  Mark  did  to-night." 


84  BOXY. 

"  You  give  Mark  more  credit  than  he  deserves,"  per 
sisted  the  uncharitable  Twonnet,  with  a  toss  of  her  curls. 
"  He  didn't  do  anything  very  deliberately  to-night.  He 
felt  bad  at  his  mother's  death  and  sorry  that  he  had 
treated  her  badly.  Wait  till  he  actually  gives  up  some 
thing  before  you  praise  him." 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   EXHORTER. 

BUT  il  friends  overestimated  the  change  in  Mark  it  is 
quite  certain  that  the  critics  were  equally  mistaken.  For 
Mark  converted  was  quite  a  different  Mark.  Even  the 
scoffers  had  to  admit  so  much.  A  man  who  finds  his  ex 
citement  in  prayer-meetings  and  love-feasts  is  not  the 
same  with  a  man  who  finds  his  diversion  in  gaming  and 
whisky  and  all-night  dancing.  He  was  not  the  same 
Mark ;  and  yet,  and  yet,  religion  is  only  the  co-efficient, 
and  the  co-efficient  derives  its  value  from  that  of  the 
quantity,  known  or  unknown,  into  which  it  is  multiplied. 
Mark  was  different  but  quite  the  same. 

Wicked  or  pious,  he  must  lead.  In  politics  he  had 
shown  himself  self-confident,  ambitious  and  fond  of  pub 
licity.  In  religious  affairs  he  was — let  us  use  the  other 
names  for  similar  traits  when  they  are  modified  by  a  noble 
sentiment — bold,  zealous  and  eager  for  success. 

He  began  to  speak  in  meeting  at  once,  for  the  Metho 
dists  of  that  day  were  not  slow  in  giving  a  new  convert 
opportunity  to  "  testify."  Indeed,  every  man  and  woman 
who  became  a  Methodist  was  exhorted,  persuaded,  coaxed, 
admonished,  if  need  be,  until  he  felt  himself  all  but  com 
pelled  to  "  witness  for  Christ."  If  there  was  any  hesi 
tancy  or  natural  diffidence  in  the  way  of  a  new  beginner's 
"  taking  up  the  cross,"  brethren  did  not  fail  to  exhort 
him  in  psalms  and  hymns  and  spiritual  songs  accordiog 


86  ROXY. 

to  the  scripture.     They  would  sing  at  him  such  words  as 
these : 


"  I'm  not  ashamed  to  own  my  Lord 
Or  to  defend  his  cause,"  etc. 


Or, 


u  Are  there  no  foes  for  me  to  face  ? 

Must  I  not  stem  the  flood  ? 
Is  this  vile  world  a  friend  to  grace 
To  help  me  on  to  God  ?  " 

It  was  a  sharp  discipline  to  which  the  convert  was  thus 
subjected.  No  very  clear  distinction  was  made  between 
moral  courage  and  mere  effrontery,  between  natural  diffi 
dence  and  real  cowardice.  IBnt  this  discipline  made  every 
one  bear  his  share  of  responsibility.  Methodism  captured 
the  West  by  mobilizing  its  whole  force.  In  time  of  re 
vival  at  least  there  were  no  reserves, — the  whole  landwekr 
was  in  action.  Everybody  must  speak  in  meeting,  or 
pray,  or  exhort,  or  "  talk  to  mourners,"  or  solicit  the  hesi 
tating  in  the  congregation  personally.  And  so  it  came 
about  that  the  clear,  flexible  voice  of  Mark  Bonamy  was 
heard  in  the  meetings  almost  immediately.  His  addresses, 
if  not  eloquent,  were  at  least  striking  and  effective.  The 
visible  tokens  of  the  influence  of  his  addresses  were  pleas 
ant  to  him, — there  are  few  men  to  whom  this  sort  of  power 
would  not  be  gratifying.  Mark  was  active,  he  enjoyed 
the  excitement,  he  liked  to  feel  himself  at  last  on  the  side 
of  the  right ;  he  threw  himself  more  and  more  into  the 
work  of  exhorting,  he  went  out  of  town  frequently  to 
address  meetings  in  the  country,  and  as  he  did  not  hesitate 
to  brave  storm  or  flood  in  these  expeditions,  he  soon 
acquired  a  reputation  for  zeal  which  was  quite  agreeable 
to  him,  for  it  could  not  be  expected  that  his  natural  vanity 


TEE  EXHORTER.  87 

should  have  all  disappeared  under  the  influence  of  his 
piety.  For  that  matter  our  motives  are  never  quite  so 
good  as  we  think,  and  never  quite  so  bad  as  our  enemies 
suppose.  Our  best  is  inwoven  with  evil,  and  our  worst, 
let  us  hope,  has  some  strands  of  good.  Only  God  can 
unravel  the  complexity.  Mark,  for  his  part,  did  not 
attempt  it.  He  was  of  too  complacent  a  temper  to  go 
behind  the  popular  verdict  when  that  was  so  favorable  as 
in  the  present  case.  He  often  confessed  his  depravity, 
his  sinf  ulness,  his  unworthiness  ;  but  this  old  heresy  that  ' 
a  man  is  all  bad  is  the  devil's  own  cloak  under  which  one 
is  always  prone  to  hide  specific  sins. 

Of  course  Mark's  religiousness  occasioned  much  gossip 
in  the  small  political  circles  of  the  county.  The  sheriff, 
claiming  to  be  intimate  with  Bonamy,  was  often  inquired 
of  about  it. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  Lathers  replied  when  the  solution  was 
demanded  by  a  crony,  "I  don't  think  it's  a  sharp  move. 
It  makes  friends  and  the  like  for  Mark,  and  gives  him  the 
preachers  and  class-leaders  and  exhausters  and  what  ye- 
may-call-'ems.  But  you  see  he  can't  ride  both  horses  with 
their  heads  and  the  like  turned  different  ways.  And  it's 
the  fellers  that  don't  go  to  class-meetin'  and  the  like  that 
carries  elections.  How's  Mark  goin'  it  with  them  \  Can't 
drink,  can't  dance — pshaw!  it  ain't  the  best  card  Mark  v 
had,  and  I  don't  see  for  my  life  what  made  him  throw  it. 
He  ain't  too  smart  at  'lectioneerin'  and  the  like  noways. 
Eft  hadn't  been  for  me  that  dancin'  so  much  with  Nance 
Kirtley  would  'a'  tripped  him  last  run ;  I  laid  myself  out 
to  save  him  from  that  scrape  and  lost  votes  and  the  like 
a-doin'  it.  And  he  don't  appreciate  it.  But  he  don't 
come  a-foolin'  'round  me  with  his  religion  and  goin's-on, 
and  the  like,  I  tell  you,  now." 


88  ROXT. 

Here  the  astute  man  took  a  good  bite  from  a  plug  of 
tobacco,  Then  he  expectorated  awhile  with  a  deadly, 
melancholy,  meditative  aim  at  the  rusty  grate. 

"  Liker'n  not,  now,  I  may  do  Mark  injestice,"  he  went 
on  with  a  suspicious  twinkle.  "  It  may  be  one  of  them 
Methodist  girls  and  the  like  he's  after.  But  then  he  don't 
show  no  signs.  That  ain't  like  him.  He's  a  plumb  fool 
when  they's  anything  of  that  kind  a-goin7.  I  can't  make 
it  out.  I  don't  believe  he  kin  nother !  It's  like  the  feller't 
had  measles,  and  mumps,  and  janders,  and  cholery  infan- 
tu-um  all  in  one  heap.  i  I  can't  make  it  out,'  says  the 
doctor,  c  but  I'll  give  you  a  little  of  everything  I've  got 
in  the  pill- bags,  and  something' 11  hit  the  disease,  may  be.' 
I  heard  that  the  Kirtley  girl  had  went  forrerd  and  the 
like  in  one  of  the  meetin's  out  on  the  crick.  I  know  what 
tree  she's  a-barkin'  up.  It's  like  the  man  said  about  his 
dog.  i  He's  treed  a  bear,"  says  he  ;  *  he  barks  too  big  fer 
a  'coon.'  Nothing  but  big  game  would  make  Nancy  Kirt- 
ley  put  on  the  pious  and  the  like." 

If  the  sheriff  erred  in  his  estimate  of  Mark,  he  was 
more  nearly  right  when  it  came  to  Nancy.  To  marry 
Mark  Bonamy  was  more  to  her  than  heaven  itself ;  for 
the  bliss  of  heaven  or  any  other  joy  long  deferred  made 
no  impression  on  her.  When  Mark  became  religious  she 
followed  him.  And  her  large-eyed  beauty  became  yet 
more  dazzling  when  she  tried  to  appear  religious.  It 
made  one  hope  that,  after  all,  there  might  be  a  soul 
within.  So  long,  indeed,  as  she  said  nothing,  she  was  a 
picture  of  meditative  wisdom,  a  very  Minerva.  But 
when  she  spoke,  it  was,  after  all,  only  Minerva's  bird. 
Such  was  the  enchantment  of  the  great  still  eyes  in  her 
passively  beautiful  face,  that  after  many  shocking  disil 
lusions  brought  about  by  the  folly  of  her  tongue,  one  wai 


THE  EXHORTER.  89 

sure  to  relapse  again  into  a  belief  in  her  inspiration  aa 
soon  as  she  became  silent.  I  doubt  if  good  John  Kaspar 
Lavater  himself  could  expound  to  us  this  likeness  of  abso 
lute  vacuity  to  deep  thoughtfulness.  Why  do  owls  and 
asses  seem  so  wise  ? 

Nancy's  apparent  conversion  was  considered  a  great  tri 
umph.  Wherever  Mark  went  he  was  successful,  and 
nearly  everybody  praised  him.  Mrs.  Hanks,  Roxy's  well- 
to-do  aunt,  held  forth  to  Jemima  upon  the  admirable 
ability  of  the  young  man,  and  his  great  goodness  and  self- 
sacrifice  in  "  laying  all  his  advantages  of  talent,  and 
wealth,  and  prospects  at  the  foot  of  the  cross." 

"  I  tell  what  I  think,  Henriette,"  replied  Jemima,  with 
her  customary  freedom ;  u  I  think  that's  all  fol-de-rol  and 
twaddle-de-dee."  Here  she  set  her  iron  down  with  em 
phasis  and  raised  her  reddened  face  from,  her  work,  wip 
ing  the  perspiration  away  with  her  apron.  "  I  think 
it's  all  nonsense  fer  the  brethren  and  sisters  to  talk  that 
way,  jest  like  as  ef  Mark  had  conferred  a  awful  favor  on 
his  Greater  in  lendin'  him  his  encouragement.  Do  you 
think  it's  sech  a  great  thing  to  be  Colonel  Bonamy's  son 
and  a  member  of  the  Injeanny  legislator,  that  God  must 
feel  mightily  obleeged  to  Mark  Bonamy  fer  bein'  so  kind 
RS  to  let  him  save  his  immortal  soul  ?  Now,  1  don't,"  and 
here  she  began  to  shove  her  iron  again.  "  You  all  '11 
spile  Mark  by  settin'  him  up  on  a  spinnacle  of  the  temple,'1 
she  added,  as  she  paused  a  moment  to  stretch  out  a  shirt 
sleeve,  preparatory  to  ironing  it- 

"  Jemima,"  said  Mrs.  Hanks,  "  it's  wicked  to  talk  that 
way.  You  are  always  making  fun  of  the  gospel.  I'm 
sure  Mark's  very  humble.  He  calls  himself  the  chief  of 
sinners." 

"  I  s'pose  he  does.    That's  nice  to  set  himself  up  along- 


90  ROXY. 

side  of  Paul  and  say :  t  See,  Paul  and  me  was  both  great 
sinners.5  That  makes  you  think  he's  a-goin'  to  be  like 
Paul  in  preachin'.  But  s'pose  one  of  the  brethren — • 
brother  Dale,  now — was  to  say  :  l  Brother  Bonamy,  you're 
the  biggest  sinner  in  town.  You're  wuss'n  ole  Gatlin  that 
went  to  penitenshry,  an'  you're  wuss'n  Bob  Gramps  that 
was  hung.'  D'you  think  he'd  say.  £  Amen,  that's  a  fact '  \ 
But  ef  bein'  the  chief  of  sinners  means  anything,  that's 
what  it  means." 

"  Jemima,  I  tell  you,  you're  wicked.  It's  right  to  kiU 
the  fatted  calf  for  the  returning  prodigal." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  know,"  and  Jemima  wiped  her  face  again. 
"  But  I  wouldn't  kill  all  the  calves  on  the  place  and  then 
begin  on  the  ye'rlin's  so  as  to  make  him  think  it  was  a 
nice  thing  to  be  a  prodigal.  I'd  be  afraid  the  scamp 
would  go  back  and  try  it  over  again." 

And  here  Jemima  broke  out  with  her  favorite  couplet : 

"  Oh,  bender  me  not,  f er  I  will  serve  the  Lord, 
And  I'll  praise  him  when  I  die." 

Mark  did  find  the  attention  which  his  piety  brought 
him  very  pleasant,  and  indeed  his  new  peace  with  himself 
made  him  happy.  His  cup  would  have  been  full  of 
sweetness  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  one  bitter  drop. 
Nancy  would  follow  him.  Wherever  he  held  meetings 
she  availed  herself  of  the  abounding  hospitality  of 
the  brethren  to  pursue  him.  She  boasted  a  little,  too, 
of  her  acquaintance  with  Brother  Bonamy  before  his  con 
version.  She  received  much  attention  on  account  of  her 
friendship  for  him.  But  Mark's  worst  trouble  was  that 
he  could  not  emancipate  himseK  from  her.  She  attracted 
him.  Struggle  as  he  might  with  the  temptation,  her  ex 
ceeding  fairness  was  a  continual  snare  to  his  thought* 


THE  EXHORTER.  91 

It  humbled  him,  or  at  least  annoyed  him,  to  remembei 
that  while  all  the  world  thought  him  a  saint,  he  could  not 
but  feel  a  forbidden  pleasure  in  looking  on  one,  to  at 
tach  himself  to  whom  would  be  certain  overthrow  to  all 
plans  for  goodness  or  usefulness.  Did  there  also  dawn 
upon  the  mind  of  Mark,  unaccustomed  as  it  was  to  self- 
analysis,  the  thought  that  this  passion  for  Nancy  had 
nothing  to  do  with  what  was  best  in  him  ?  Did  he  ever 
reflect  that  it  had  no  tinge  of  sentiment  about  it  ?  Certain 
it  is  that  he  struggled  with  it,  after  a  fashion ;  but  his 
attempts  to  extinguish  it,  as  is  often  the  case,  served  to  fan 
it  into  something  like  a  flame ;  for  such  passions  are  not 
to  be  fought — when  one  tights  one  thinks,  and  thought  is 
oil  to  the  flame.  They  are  to  be  extinguished  by  the 
withdrawal  of  fuel ;  to  be  eliminated  by  substitution  of  \ 
serious  purposes.  Mark  prayed  against  his  passion;  re 
flected  wisely  on  the  folly  of  it;  did  everything  but  what 
he  ought  to  have  done.  He  perpetually  hid  from  himself 
that  his  conversations  with  Nancy  on  the  subject  of  re 
ligion  were  sources  of  nothing  but  evil  to  himself  and  to 
her.  Was  she  not  a  convert  of  his  own  labors  ?  Should 
he  not  do  what  he  could  to  strengthen  her  purpose  to  do 
right? 

About  this  time  Dr.  Ruter's  missionaries  in  Texas  had 
attracted  much  attention,  and  Mark  thought  of  joining 
them.  He  would  thus  undertake  a  hard  thing,  and  Mark, 
was  in  the  humor  of  doing  something  Herculean.  He 
spurned  the  idea  that  he  was  to  settle  himself  to  the  ordi 
nary  and  unpoetic  duties  of  life,  or  that,  if  he  should  be 
come  a  preacher  he  could  be  content  with  doing  only  what 
commonplace  circuit-riders  did.  In  a  general  sort  of  way 
without  wishing  for  specific  martyrdom,  he  would  have 
liked  to  brave  wild  beasts  or  persecutions.  Most  of  us 


92  ROXY. 

would  be  willing  to  accept  martyrdom  in  the  abstract,— 
to  have  the  glory  and  self-complacency  of  having  imi 
tated  Paul,  without  having  our  heads  specifically  beaten 
with  specific  stones  in  the  hands  of  specific  heathen,  or 
our  backs  lacerated  with  Philippiaii  whips  on  any  defi 
nitely  specified  day. 

Bonamy  had  caught  the  genuine  Methodist  spirit,  how 
ever,  and  being  full  of  enterprise  and  daring  he  was  ready 
for  some  brave  endeavor.  Perhaps,  too,  he  found  a  cer 
tain  relief  in  the  thought  that  a  mission  of  some  kind 
would  carry  him  away  from  the  besetrnent  of  Nancy,  who 
had  lately  persuaded  him  to  give  her  his  pocket-testament 
as  an  assistance  to  her  religious  life. 

O 

At  any  rate,  it  was  soon  noised  that  Bonamy  was  going 
to  do  something.  The  rumor  was  very  vague;  nobody 
knew  j  ust  what  the  enterprise  of  the  young  Methodist  was 
to  be.  Texas,  and  even  Mexico,  was  mentioned  ;  Choctaw 
Indians,  the  Dakota  mission  and  what  not,  were  presently 
woven  into  the  village  gossip. 

Colonel  Bonamy  debated  in  himself,  how  he  should  de 
feat  this  scheme.  As  a  lawyer  he  was  accustomed  to 
manage  men.  He  had  but  two  ways :  the  one  to  play 
what  he  called  "  bluff," — to  sail  down  on  his  opponent 
and  appall  him  by  a  sudden  display  of  his  whole  arma 
ment;  the  other  was  a  sort  of  intellectual  ambuscade. 
"With  Mark,  who  had  always  been  under  authority,  he 
chose  the  first.  It  is  not  pleasing  to  parental  vanity  to 
have  to  take  roundabout  courses. 

"  Mark,"  said  the  old  colonel,  as  the  young  man  entered 
his  office,  "  sit  down  there,"  and  he  pointed  to  a  chair. 

This  was  a  sign  of  coming  reproof.  Mark  had  been  so 
much  flattered  by  the  Whigs  on  the  one  hand  and  his  re 
ligious  associates  on  the  other,  that  he  did  not  quite  like 


THE  EXHORTER.  93 

this  school-boy  position.  lie  seated  himself  in  the  chaii 
indicated.  The  old  gentleman  did  not  begin  speech  at 
once.  He  knew  that  when  "  bluff  "  was  to  be  played  a 
preliminary  pause  and  a  great  show  of  calmness  on  his 
part  would  tend  to  demoralize  the  enemy.  So  he  com 
pleted  the  sentence  he  was  writing,  gathered  up  his  papers 
and  laid  them  away.  Then  he  turned  his  chair  square 
around  toward  his  son,  took  off  his  glasses,  stroked  the 
rough,  grizzled  beard  of  three  days'  growth  on  his  chin, 
and  fastened  his  eyes  on  Mark. 

u  What  is  the  use  of  being  an  infernal  fool  ?  "  said  the 
old  man.  "  I  let  you  take  your  own  course  in  politics.  I 
didn't  say  anything  against  your  being  a  little  unsteady  ; 
I  was  a  young  man  myself  once  and  sowed  some  wild  oats. 
I  knew  you  would  settle  after  a  while.  But  I  never  was 
such  a  confounded  fool  as  you  !  To  let  a  set  of  shouting 
old  women  and  snooping  preachers  set  you  off  your  head 
till  you  throw  away  all  your  chances  in  life,  is  to  be  the 
plaguedest  fool  alive.  Now,  I  tell  you,  by  godamity,  Mark 
Bonamy,  that  if  you  go  to  Texas  you  may  go  to  the  devil, 
too,  for  all  of  me.  I'll  cut  you  out  of  every  red  cent.  I 
don't  waste  my  money  on  a  jackass,  sir.  That's  all." 

The  old  man  had  by  this  time  wrought  himself  into  a 
real  passion.  But  he  had  mistaken  Mark's  temper.  He 
was  no  more  a  man  to  yield  to  threats  than  his  father. 
Many  a  man  with  less  heart  for  martyrdom  than  Mark 
can  burn  at  the  stake  when  his  obstinacy  is  aroused. 

"  Keep  your  money,  I  don't  want  it,"  he  said  contempt 
uously,  as  he  strode  out  of  his  father's  office,  mentally 
comparing  himself  to  Simon  Peter  rejecting  the  offer  of 
Simon  Magus. 

He  was  of  a  temper  quite  earnest  enough  to  have  made 
more  real  sacrifices  than  the  giving  up  of  a  reversionary- 


94:  ROX7. 

interest  in  an  estate  between  him  and  tie  possession  of 
which  there  stood  the  vigorous  life  of  his  father.  But  the 
apparent  sacrifice  was  considerable,  and  it  was  much 
extolled.  Roxy  in  particular  was  lost  in  admiration  of 
what  seemed  to  her  unchecked  imagination  a  sublime 
self -sacrifice.  She  rejoiced  humbly  in  the  part  she  had 
taken  in  bringing  Mark  to  a  religious  life,  while  she  esti  • 
mated  the  simplicity  and  loftiness  of  his  motives  by  the 
nobleness  of  her  own.  And,  indeed,  Mark's  missionary 
purpose  was  in  the  main  a  noble  one. 


CHAPTER  XL 

DIVINING   CUPS. 

INTENSE  excitements  cannot  endure.  It  is  a  "merciful 
provision."  Human  nature  strained  too  long  in  any  direc 
tion  must  find  repose  in  relaxation  or  change  in  reaction. 
As  the  white  heat  of  the  political  excitement  of  "  the  cam 
paign  of  '40"  had  cooled  off,  so  now  the  revival  excite 
ment  slowly  but  surely  subsided.  There  were  brethren 
unversed  in  the  philosophy  of  human  nature  who  did  not 
know  that  after  the  summer  heat  of  religious  excitement 
a  hibernation  is  needful  and  healthy,  and  who  set  them 
selves  to  prevent  the  cooling,  or  the  "  backsliding  "  as  they 
termed  it.  But  the  ebb  tide  was  too  strong  for  them, 
they  were  caught  in  it  themselves,  tired  nature  over 
strained  in  one  direction  sank  into  torpor,  in  them  as  well 
as  in  others.  Doubtless  this  period  of  reaction  was  worth 
quite  as  much  as  the  period  of  revival.  The  winnow 
ing  went  on  rapidly  now;  the  good  folks  were  greatly 
alarmed  to  see  how  much  of  what  they  had  raked  together 
was  mere  chaff ;  but  ever  as  the  wind  drove  away  the  chaff, 
the  solid  grain  became  visible. 

Among  those  who  proved  steadfast  was  the  young  law^. 
_yer.  He  did  not  go  out  to  exhort  so  much  in  meetings  as 
before,  but  then  it  was  corn-planting  time  and  meetings 
were  no  longer  common  in  the  country.  He  gave  atten 
tion  to  his  business,  but  it  was  still  understood  that  he 
meditated  some  dreadful  mission  to  some  outlandish  place, 
Oregon  or  Texas  01  Guinea — gossips  were  divided  about 


96  ROXY. 

the  exact  locality — it  was  away  off  in  that  direction  some 
where.  Mark  talked  less  about  it  now,  ard  was  not  quite 
so  sure  of  his  own  mind  in  the  matter  as  he  had  been,  ex 
cept  while  talking  to  Roxy.  He  grew  more  and  more 
fond  of  talking  to  lioxy.  In  conversation  with  her  it  was 
the  better  Mark  who  spoke.  The  lower,  the  passionate, 
the  vacillating  Mark  was  quite  put  out  of  sight.  Roxy 
called  out  his  best,  and  put  him  in  conceit  with  himself 
All  that  was  highest  in  her  transferred  itself  somehow 
to  him,  and  he  was  inclined  to  give  himself  credit  for 
originating  the  impulses  with  which  she  inspired  him. 
He  liked  to  look  at  himself  shining  in  the  light  of  her  re 
flected  enthusiasm.  She  had  set  up  an  ideal  Mark  Bon- 
amy,  and  the  real  Mark  was  so  pleased  to  look  at  this  flat 
tering  picture  in  the  mind  of  the  pure-hearted  girl,  that  he 
came  to  believe  the  image  of  himself  which  he  saw  there 
to  be  an  accurate  likeness. 

Of  course  interviews  so  frequent  and  so  pleasant  must 
grow  to  something  more.  It  doesn't  matter  what  a  young 
man  and  a  young  woman  talk  about,  even  sympathetic 
conversations  about  missionary  labors  in  Texas  or  in 
Greenland  are  apt  to  become  tender.  One  enthusiasm 
translates  itself  so  easily  into  another  !  This  worship  of 
his  real  and  imaginary  goodness,  and  this  stimulus  of 
what  was  best  in  him  was  so  agreeable  to  Bonamy  that  he 
began  to  doubt  whether  after  all  it  was  best  to  undertake 
a  mission  to  the  Texans  single-handed  and  alone.  Good 
old  sisters  whose  match-making  proclivities  had  not  died 
but  had  only  been  sanctified,  took  occasion  to  throw  out 
hints  on  the  subject,  which  greatly  encouraged  Mark  to 
believe  that  Roxy  was  divinely  intended  and  molded  to 
be  his  helpmate  in  that  great,  vast,  vague  enterprise  which 
should  be  worthy  of  the  large  abilities  he  had  consecrated. 


DIVINING   CUPS.  97 

Koxy  on  her  part  was  a  highly  imaginative  girl.  Here 
was  a  large-shouldered,  magnificent,  Apollo-like  fellow, 
who  thought  himself  something  wonderful,  and  whom  his 
friends  thought  wonderful.  It  was  easy  to  take  him  at  the 
popular  estimate,  and  then  to  think  she  had  discovered 
even  more  than  others  saw  in  him.  For  was  it  not  to  her 
that  he  revealed  his  great  unsettled  plans  for  suffering  and 
dying  for  the  cross  of  Christ  ?  And  as  he  came  more  and 
more,  the  pure-spirited  girl  began  to  long  that  she  might 
somehow  share  his  toils  and  sufferings.  The  ambition  to  do 
some  heroic  thing  had  always  burned  in  her  heart,  and  in  her 
it  was  a  pure  flame  with  no  taint  of  selfishness  or  egotism. 

Mark  went  into  Adams's  shop  one  day  to  have  his  boots 
mended. 

"  So  you  are  going  to  Texas,  are  you  ?  "  broke  out  the 
shoe -maker,  with  half -suppressed  vehemence. 

"Yes." 

"  Fool's  errand — fool's  errand,'7  muttered  the  old  man 
as  he  turned  the  boots  over  to  look  at  the  soles.  Then  he 
looked  furtively  at  Bonamy  and  was  disappointed  to  find 
in  his  face  no  sign  of  perturbation.  "Fool's  errand,  I 
say,"  sharper  than  before. 

Mark  tossed  back  his  black  hair,  and  said  with  a  twin 
kle: 

"  So  you  think,  no  doubt." 

"  Think  ?  think  f  "     Here  the  shoe-maker  choked  for 

utterance.     "  I  tell  you  if  you  were  my  son  I'd "  then 

he  went  on  turning  the  X)Oots  over  and  left  the  sentence 
unfinished.  Perhaps  because  he  could  not  think  what  he 
would  do  to  such  a  strapping  son  as  Mark  ;  perhaps  be 
cause  the  sentence  seemed  more  frightful  in  this  mysteri 
ous  state  of  suspended  animation  than  it  could  have  done 
with  any  conceivable  penalty  at  the  end. 
5 


98  ROXY. 

"  You'd  spank  me  and  not  give  me  any  supper,  may 
be,"  said  Mark,  who  was  determined  to  be  good-natured 
with  Roxy's  father. 

The  old  man's  face  did  not  relax. 

"  That  shoe  needs  half -soling,"  he  said,  ferociously. 
"  What  makes  you  run  your  boots  down  at  the  heel  ?  " 

"  To  make  business  lively  for  the  shoe-makers." 

"And  what'll  you  do  when  you  get  to  Texas  where 
there  are  no  shoe -makers  ?  I  wish  1  could  patch  cracked 
heads  as  easy  as  cracked  shoes." 

Adams  was  not  averse  to  Mark's  flattering  attentions  to 
Roxy,  to  which  he  had  attached  a  significance  greater 
than  Mark  had  intended  or  Roxy  suspected.  Missionary 
fever  would  soon  blow  over  perhaps,  and  then  Mark  was 
sure  to  "  be  somebody." 

Besides,  the  shoe-maker  was  himself  meditating  a  mar 
riage  with  Miss  Moore.  Her  sign  hung  next  to  his  own 
on  Main  street,  and  read,  uMiss  Moore,  Millinery  and 
Mantua-maker."  Adams  may  have  guessed  from  the  ver 
bal  misconstruction  of  the  sign,  that  the  mantua-maker 
was  as  much  in  the  market  as  the  millinery ;  but  at  least 
he  had  taken  pity  on  her  loneliness  and  Miss  Moore  had 
"  felt  great  sympathy  for  "  his  loneliness,  and  so  they  were 
both  ready  to  decrease  their  loneliness  by  making  a  joint 
stock  of  it.  Adams,  thinking  of  marriage  himself,  could 
not  feel  unkind  toward  a  similar  weakness  in  younger 
people. 

There  was,  however,  one  person  who  did  not  like  this 
growing  attachment  between  Mark  Bonamy  and  Roxy 
Adams.  Twonnet  had  built  other  castles  for  her  friend. 
She  was  not  sentimental,  but  shrewd,  practical,  matter- 
of-fact — in  short  slue  was  Swiss.  She  did  not  believe  in 
Mark's  steadfastness.  Besides,  her  hero  was  Whittaker, 


DIVINING  OUP3.  99 

whose  serious  ex«  ellence  of  character  was  a  source  of  per 
petual  admiration  in  her.  She  was  fully  conscious  of  her 
own  general  unfitness  to  aspire  to  be  the  wife  of  such  a 
man  ;  she  had  an  apprehension  that  she  abode  most  of  the 
time  under  the  weight  of  the  minister's  displeasure,  and 
she  plainly  saw  that  in  his  most  kindly  moods  he  treated 
her  as  one  of  those  who  were  doomed  to  a  sort  of  perpet 
ual  and  amiable  childhood.  It  was  by  no  great  stretch  of 
magnanimity,  therefore,  that  Twonnet  set  herself  to  find  a 
way  to  promote  an  attachment  between  Whittaker  and 
Roxy.  Next  to  her  own  love  affair  a  girl  is  interested  in 
somebody  else's  love  affair. 

But  Twonnet  saw  no  way  of  pushing  her  design,  for 
Whittaker  carefully  abstained  from  going  to  Adams's 
house.  Twonnet  beguiled  Roxy  into  spending  evenings 
at  her  father's.  Whittaker,  on  such  occasions,  took  the 
dispensations  of  Providence  kindly,  basking  in  the  sun 
light  of  Hoxy's  inspiring  presence  for  a  few  hours,  and 
lying  awake  in  troubled  indecision  the  entire  night  there 
after.  It  was  with  an  increase  of  hope  that  Twonnet  saw 
the  mutual  delight  of  the  two  in  each  other's  society,  and 
she  was  more  than  ever  convinced  that  she  was  the  hum 
ble  instrumentality  set  apart  by  Providence  to  bring  about 
a  fore-ordained  marriage.  She  managed  on  one  pretext  or 
another  to  leave  them  alone  at  times  in  the  old-fashioned 
parlor,  with  no  witness  but  the  Swiss  clock  on  the 
wall,  the  tic-tac  of  whose  long,  slow  pendulum  made  the 
precious  moments  of  communion  with  Roxy  seem  longer 
and  more  precious  to  the  soul  of  the  preacher.  But  noth 
ing  came  of  these  long-drawn  seconds  of  conversation  on 
indifferent  topics — nothing  ever  came  but  sleepless  nights 
and  new  conflicts  for  Whittaker.  For  how  should  he 
marry  on  his  slender  salary  and  with  his  education  yet 


100  ROXY. 

unpaid  for  I  After  each  of  these  interviews  contrived  by 
Twonnet,  the  good-hearted  maneuverer  looked  in  vain  to 
Bee  him  resume  his  calls  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Adams.  But 
he  did  not.  She  could  not  guess  why. 

One  night  Twonnet  spent  with  Roxy.  Mark  came  in, 
in  his  incidental  way,  during  the  evening,  but  he  did  not 
get  on  well.  The  shrewd  Twonnet  got  him  to  tell  of  his 
electioneering  experiences,  and  contrived  to  make  him 
show  the  wrong  side  of  his  nature  all  the  evening.  Roxy 
was  unhappy  at  this,  and  so  was  Mark,  but  Twonnet  felt 
a  mischievous  delight  in  thus  turning  Mark  aside  from 
talking  about  Roxy's  pet  enthusiasms,  and  in  showing 
them  the  discords  which  incipient  lovers  do  not  care  to 
see. 

The  girls  sat  at  the  breakfast-table  a  little  late  the  next 
morning — late  in  relation  to  village  habits,  for  it  was 
nearly  seven  o'clock.  Twonnet  proposed  to  tell  fortunes 
with  coffee-grounds,  after  the  manner  of  girls.  Roxy 
hesitated  a  little  ;  she  was  scrupulous  about  trifles,  but  at 
Twonnet's  entieatyshe  reversed  her  cup  to  try  the  for 
tune  of  her  friend. 

"  I  don't  see  anything,  Twonnet,  in  these  grounds,"  she 
said,  inspecting  the  inside  of  her  cup,  "  except — except — 
yes — I  see  an  animal.  I  can't  tell  whether  it's  a  dog  or  a 
mule.  It  has  a  dog's  tail  and  mule's  ears.  What  does 
that  mean  ? " 

"  Pshaw  !  you  aren't  worth  a  cent,  Roxy,  to  tell  for 
tunes,"  and  with  that  Twonnet  looked  over  her  shoulder. 
"Dog's  tail!  why  that's  a  sword,  don't  you  see.  I  am  to 
have  a  gentleman  come  to  see  me  who  is  a  military  man." 

"But  will  he  carry  his  sword  up  in  the  air  that  way  as 
if  he  were  going  to  cut  your  head  off  if  you  should  refuse 
him  ?  "  asked  Roxy,  "  and  what  about  these  ears  ? " 


DIVINING   CUPS.  101 

"  Ears !  that  is  beastly,  Eoxy.  Those  are  side-whiskers 
Now,  see  me  tell  your  fortune." 

With  this,  Twonnet  capsized  her  cup  in  the  saucer  and 
let  it  remain  inverted  for  some  seconds,  then  righting  it 
again  she  beheld  the  sediment  of  her  coffee  streaked  up 
and  down  the  side  of  the  cup  in  a  most  unintelligible  way. 
But  Twonuet's  rendering  was  fore-determined. 

"  1  see,"  she  began,  and  then  she  paused  a  long  time, 
for  in  truth  it  was  hard  to  see  anything.  "  I  see " 

"  Well,  what  ?  "  said  Koxy,  "  a  dog's  tail  or  side- 
whiskers  ? " 

"  I  see  a  young  man,  rather  tall,  with  curly  hair  and 
« — and  broad  shoulders."  Twonnet  now  looked  steadily 
in  the  cup,  and  spoke  with  the  rapt  air  of^  a  Pythoness. 
Had  she  looked  up  she  would  have  seen  the  color  increas 
ing  in  Koxy's  cheeks.  "  But  his  back  is  turned,  and  so  I 
Bee  that  you  will  reject  him.  There  are  crooked  linea 
crossing  his  figure  by  which  I  perceive  it  would  have 
been  a  great  source  of  trouble  to  you  ha'd  you  accepted 
him.  There  would  have  been  discord  and  evil." 

Here  Koxy  grew  pale,  but  Twonnet  still  looked  eagerly 
in  the  cup. 

'•  I  see,"  she  continued,  "  a  tall,  serious  man.  There  is 
a  book  in  front  of  him.  He  is  a  minister.  The  linea 
about  him  are  smooth  and  indicate  happiness.  His  face 
is  toward  me  and  I  perceive — that " 

But  here  Eoxy  impatiently  wrested  the  cup  from  her 
hand  and  said,  "  Shut  up,  you  gabbling  story-teller ! " 
Then  looking  in  the  cup  curiously,  she  said,  "There's 
nothing  of  all  that  there.  Just  a  few  streaks  of  coffee- 
grounds." 

"May  be  you  spoiled  it,"  said  the  gypsy  Twonnet. 
"  You  cannot  read  your  own  destiny.  I  read  it  for  you." 


102  ROXT. 

"  And  I  read  yours,"  said  Roxy ;  "  an  animal  with  a 
dog's  tail  and  mule's  ears.  But  don't  let's  talk  any  more 
nonsense,  Twonnet,  it's  a  sin." 

"  More  harm  comes  of  religious  talk  sometimes  than  of 
fooling,"  retorted  Twonnet. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  demanded  Roxy,  with  anger 
and  alarm. 

Bat  Twonnet  did  not  answer  except  by  a  significant 
look  from  her  black  eyes.  The  girls  had  changed  placea 
for  a  time.  It  was  Twonnet  who  had  taken  the  lead. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


POVERTY  is  always  superstitious,  if  we  may  believe  the 
Bonkomme  Beranger,  and  Whittaker,  driven  to  and  fro 
between  a  growing  love  for  Roxy  Adams  and  an  honest 
sense  of  obligation  to  pay  for  his  education,  had  one 
superstition.  His  father  had,  four  years  before,  invested 
all  his  small  savings  in  a  whaling  vessel  sailing  out  of  the 
port  of  New  Bedford.  News  had  come  from  the  Arctic 
seas  which  led  to  the  belief  that  the  ship  was  lost.  Dis 
tress  at  the  loss  of  his  property,  with  the  superadded  grief 
of  losing  his  wife  soon  after,  had  caused  the  death  of 
Whittaker's  father.  But  the  son  had  never  been  quite 
convinced  that  the  "  Petrel  "  had  gone  down.  And  now 
he  even  dreamed  at  night  of  the  "  Petrel,"  weather-worn 
but  richly  laden,  sailing  into  New  Bedford  harbor  with 
Hoxy  on  her  prow,  while  he  stood  in  the  crowd  of  rejoic 
ing  stockholders,  anxious  friends  of  sailors,  curious  idlers, 
on  the  busy  pier  watching  her  return.  But  the  "  Petrel  " 
never,  except  in  Whittaker's  dreams,  floated  again  over 
the  waters  of  Buzzard's  Bay.  He  hoped  in  vain  for  his 
dividend,  and  the  weary  wives  of  sailors  on  the  "  Petrel  " 
waited  in  vain  for  husbands  whose  grave-stones  were  the 
icebergs. 

But  if  the  "  Petrel "  did  not  come,  another  ship  did, 
The  rich  and  childless  deacon,  who  out  of  his  large  means 
had  lent  young  Whittaker  enough  to  finish  his  educa 
tion  for  the  ministry,  died,  and  remembering  that  notea 


104  ROXT. 

and  bonds  could  not  add  to  his  comfort  in  heaven,  he 
willed  to  his  beneficiary  the  amount  of  his  debt.  On  the 
very  morning  of  Twonnet's  for  tune- tell  ing  Whittaker  had 
gone  feverishly  to  the  village  post-office  in  the  back  part 
of  a  dry  goods  store,  to  look  for  the  letter  that  should 
biing  him  news  of  the  "  Petrel."  He  readily  paid  the 
thirty-seven  and  a  half  cents  postage  on  a  letter  from  his 
brother,  and  opened  it  eagerly  to  read,  not  the  return  of 
the  "Petrel,"  but  the  death  of  Deacon  Borden  and  hia 
own  release  from  bondage.  I  am  afraid  that  his  joy  at 
his  deliverance  from  debt  exceeded  his  sorrow  at  the  death 
of  his  benefactor.  He  would  now  carry  out  a  plan  which 
he  had  lately  conceived  of  starting  a  school,  for  there  was 
no  good  one  in  the  village.  The  two  hundred  dollars  a 
year  which  this  would  bring,  added  to  his  two  hundred 
from  the  Home  Missionary  Society  and  the  one  hundred 
of  salary  from  the  church,  would  be  ample  for  his  support 
and  that  of  a  wife. 

He  was  so  elated  that  he  could  not  quite  keep  his  secret. 
He  had  gotten  into  a  habit  of  talking  rather  freely  to 
Twonnet.  Her  abundant  animal  spirits  were  a  relief  to 
his  sobriety,  and  he  had  observed  that  her  regard  for  him 
was  kindly  and  disinterested.  So  with  his  letter  full  of 
news,  he  began  to  walk  the  upper  piazza,  waiting  for  the 
blithe  Twonnet  to  come  out,  for  she  had  returned  home 
and  was  now,  as  she  "  made  up  "  the  beds,  singing  and 
chatting  to  her  younger  sisters  half  in  French  and  half  in 
English.  In  circumstances  such  as  his,  one  jnust  talk  to 
somebody.  Once  he  paused  in  his  pacing  to  and  fro  and 
looked  off  at  the  deep  green  of  the  Kentucky  hills,  over 
laid  by  a  thin  blue  atmospheric  enamel ;  he  looked  through 
the  grape-vines  which  over-clambered  the  upper  piazza,  to 
the  great,  peaceful  current  of  the  Ohio,  flowing  steadily 


WH1TTAKEKS  SHIP  COMES  IN.  105 

in  a  majestic  stillness  ; — a  placid  giant  is  that  river ; — he 
listened  to  the  red-bird  in  a  neighboring  cherry-tree  pour 
ing  ont  an  ecstasy  of  amorous  song  to  his  mate,  as  he 
leaped  joyously  from  bough  to  bough  ;  and  he,  the  grave, 
severe  young  minister,  rejoiced  in  hills,  and  sky,  and  river 
and  singing  birds,  half  reproaching  himself  all  the  time 
for  being  so  happy  and  feeling  like  a  good  boy  that, 
unaer  some  impulse  quite  irresistible,  has  suddenly  played 
truant. 

Twonnet  was  long  in  appearing  and  Mr.  Whittaker  re 
sumed  his  pacing  to  and  fro,  glancing  every  now  and 
then  at  the  hills  and  the  river,  and  listening  in  a  dreamy 
way  to  the  delicious  melody  of  the  red-bird  and  the  occa 
sional  soft  cooing  of  a  turtle-dove  whose  nest  was  in  an 
apple-tree  just  beyond  the  garden  fence.  At  last  Twonnet 
came  out  on  the  piazza — or  porch,  as  they  call  it  in 
Indiana — and  Whittaker  told  her,  with  what  solemnity 
he  could,  of  the  death  of  the  old  deacon,  and  then  of  his 
own  good  fortune. 

"  I'm  glad,"  said  Twonnet,  beginning  to  guess  what  had 
kept  Whittaker  from  visiting  Roxy. 

u  Glad  the  deacon's  dead  ? "  queried  Whittaker,  smi 
ling. 

"  I  do  not  know  your  friend  and  I  can't  be  very  sorry 
for  him.  But  I  do  know  you  and  I  am  glad,  since  he 
must  die,  that  he  was  good  enough  to  give  you  your  debt. 
It  shows  he  was  prepared  to  go,  you  see,  so  my  pleasure 
is  quite  religious  and  right,"  and  she  laughed  roguishly. 

"  Besides,  you  don't  seem  heart-broken  about  it,  and " 

but  here  she  checked  herself,  seeing  that  she  had  given 
pain. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  been  selfish,"  said  Whittaker,— all 
the  gladness  had  gone  now, — "  but  you  don't  know  what 
5* 


106  ROXT. 

a  nightmare  this  debt  haa  been.     I  don't  wonder  that 
debt  makes  men  criminals — it  hardens  the  heart." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Whittaker,  if  he  had  wanted  you  to  feel 
sorry  when  he  had  gone,  he  ought  to  have  given  you  the 
money  while  he  was  alive,"  said  Twonnet,  lightly.  Then 
she  started  away,  but  looked  back  over  her  shoulder  to  say 
teasin  VLy,  "  Now,  Mr.  Whittaker,  you'll  go  to  see  some 
body,  I'll  bet." 

"Twonnet,"  he  called  after  her,  and  when  she  had 
stopped  he  asked :  "  Is  there  any  reason  why  I  shouldn't 
go  to  see  somebody  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not.  Every  reason  why  you  should  go 
right  off.  You  are  not  too  late,  but  you  will  be  if  you 
wait."  This  last  was  said  with  the  old  bantering  tone, 
and.  Whittaker  looked  after  her  as  she  disappeared,  saying 
to  himself : 

"  A  splendid  girl.     Pity  she  is  so  giddy." 

After  mature  reflection  lasting  fifteen  minutes,  he  de 
cided  to  call  on  Roxy  Adams  that  very  afternoon.  He 
had  not  understood  Twonnet's  warning,  but  some  appre 
hension  of  grave  disaster  to  his  new-born  hope,  and  the 
nervousness  of  an  austere  man  who  has  not  often  found 
duty  and  inclination  coincident,  made  him  in  haste  to 
forestall  any  misadventure.  He  ate  but  little  dinner,  not 
even  enjoying  his  favorite  dish  of  dandelion  greens  cooked 
in  good  Swiss  fashion.  Mr.  Lefaure  watched  anxiously 
and  at  last  inquired  with  earnestness : 

"  Est-ce  que  vous  ne  vous  portez  pas  Men,  Monsieur  f  " 

But  Whittaker  smi'ed  and  assured  the  host  that  he  was 
well,  but  had  no  appetite. 

Twonnet,  at  last,  solemnly  told  her  father  that  Mr. 
Whittaker  had  received  a  letter  that  very  morning  in« 
forming  him  of  the  death  of  an  old  friend ,  and  this  infor- 


THE   OTHER  WAY  !  "    CRIED  THE   MISCHIEVOUS  VOICE   OF   TWONNET. 


WHITTAKEKS  SHIP  COMES  IN.  107 

matlon  tallied  so  little  with  the  expression  on  the  minis 
ter's  face  that  Twonnet's  father  was  quite  suspicious  that 
the  girl  was  playing  one  of  her  little  pranks  on  him.  But 
when  he  looked  again  at  Whittaker's  face  it  was  serious 
enough. 

After  dinner  the  minister  tried  to  get  ready  with  great 
deliberation.  By  severe  constraint  he  compelled  himself 
to  move  slowly,  and  to  leave  the  little  front  gate  of 
palings,  painted  black  atop,  in  a  direction  opposite  to  that 
which  his  feet  longed  to  take. 

"  The  other  way,"  cried  the  mischievous  voice  of  Twon- 
net,  from  behind  a  honeysuckle  which  she  affected  to  be 
tying  up  to  its  trellis. 

"  Presently,"  replied  he,  finding  it  so  much  easier  not 
to  keep  his  secret,  and  pleased  with  Twonnet's  friendly 
sympathy.  But  that  word,  spoken  to  her  half  in  ten 
derness,  pierced  her  like  an  arrow.  A  sharp  pang  of 
jealousy  and  I  know  not  what,  shot  through  her  heart  in 
that  moment ;  the  sunshine  vanished  from  her  face.  She 
had  accomplished  her  purpose  in  sending  Mr.  Whittaker 
to  Roxy,  and  now  her  achievement  suddenly  became  bitter 
to  her.  She  ran  upstairs  and  closed  her  door  and  let 
down  the  blind  of  green  slats,  then  she  buried  her  head  in 
the  great  feather  pillows  and  cried  her  eyes  red.  She  felt 
lonely  and  forsaken  of  her  friends.  She  was  mad  with 
the  minister  and  with  Roxy. 

But  Whlttaker  walked  away  in  the  sunlight  full  of 
hope  and  happiness. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A   WEATHER-BREEDER. 

PEEPS  into  the  future  are  depressing.  Twonnet's  gypsy 
gift  did  not  raise  Roxy's  spirits.  By  means  of  divination 
she  had  suddenly  found,  not  exactly  that  she  was  in  love 
with  Mark,  but  that  she  was  in  a  fair  way  to  love  him. 
It  was  painful,  too,  to  know  that  all  the  joy  she  had  had 
in  talking  with  Eonainy  was  not  as  she  had  thought  it, 
purely  religious  and  disinterested.  Her  sensitive  eon- 
science  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  self-deception,  and 
she  had  been  in  this  case  both  deceiver  and  dupe.  She 
had  little  belief  in  Twonnet's  gift  of  prophecy  but  much 
in  her  shrewd  insight.  Was  it  true,  then,  that  the  great, 
brilliant  and  self-sacrificing  Mark  loved  her  ?  This 
thought  would  have  been  enough  to  plunge  her  into 
doubt  and  questionings.  But  Twonnet's  evident  distrust 
of  her  hero  vexed  and  perturbed  her.  And  then  to  have 
her  other  hero  suddenly  thrown  into  the  opposite  scale 
drove  her  into  a  tangle  of  complex  feelings.  How  did 
Twonnet  know  anything  about  Mr.  Whittaker's  feeling 
toward  her  ?  Was  it  likely  that  he  would  want  to  marry 
a  Methodist  ? 

Alas!  just  when  her  life  was  flowing  so  smoothly  and 
she  seemed  to  be  able  to  be  useful,  the  whole  stream  was 
suddenly  perturbed  by  cross-currents  and  eddies,  and  she 
was  thrown  into  doubts  innumerable.  Prayer  did  not 
seem  to  do  any  good ;  her  thoughts  were  so  distracted 
that  devotion  was  impossible.  This  distraction  and  de> 


A    WEATHER-BREEDER.  109 

pression  seemed  to  her  the  hiding  of   the  Lord's  face. 
She  wrote  in  her  diary  on  that  day  : 

44 1  am  walking  in  great  darkness.  I  have  committed  some  sin  and 
the  Lord  has  withdrawn  from  me  the  light  of  his  countenance.  I  try 
to  pray,  but  my  thoughts  wander.  I  fear  I  have  set  my  heart  on 
earthly  things.  What  a  sinner  I  am.  Oh  Lord  !  have  mercy  !  Leave 
me  not  in  my  distress.  Show  me  the  right  way,  and  lead  me  in  pathi 
of  righteousness  for  thy  name's  sake." 

The  coming  of  Whittaker  that  afternoon  added  to  her 
bewilderment.  She  did  her  best  to  receive  him  with  com 
posure  and  cordiality,  but  Twonnet's  prophecy  had  so 
impressed  her  beforehand  with  the  purpose  of  his  visit 
that  she  looked  on  him  from  the  first  in  doubt,  indecision 
and  despair.  And  yet  her  woman's  heart  went  out  to 
ward  him  as  he  sat  there  before  her,  gentle,  manly,  un 
selfish  and  refined.  It  was.  clear  to  her  then  that  she 
could  love  him.  But  thoughts  of  Mark  Bonamy  and  his 
mission  intruded.  Had  Whittaker  come  a  week  or  two 
earlier ! 

While  the  minister  talked,  Roxy  could  not  control  her 
fingers  at  her  knitting.  Her  hands  trembled  and  refused 
to  make  those  motions  which  long  since  had  become  so 
habitual  as  to  be  almost  involuntary.  There  was  one  re 
lief  ;  Bobo  sat  alongside  of  her  and  the  poor  fellow  grew 
uneasy  as  he  discovered  her  agitation.  She  let  fall  her 
knitting  and  pushed  the  hair  from  the  boy's  inquiring 
face,  lavishing  on  him  the  pity  she  felt  for  her  suitor, 
speaking  caressing  words  to  him,  which  he  caught  up  and 
repeated  like  an  echo  in  the  tones  of  tenderness  which 
she  used.  Whittaker  envied  the  perpetual  child  these 
caresses  and  the  pitying  love  which  Roxy  gave  him.  Roxy 
was  much  moved  by  Whittaker's  emotion.  Her  pitiful 


no  nox  T. 

heart  longed  not  so  much  to  love  him  for  her  own  sake  as 
to  comfort  him  for  his  sake.  Some  element  of  compassion 
must  needs  have  been  mingled  with  the  highest  love  of 
which  she  was  capable. 

The  minister  came  to  the  love-making  rather  abruptly, 
lie  praised  her  and  his  praises  were  grateful  to  her,  he 
avowed  his  love,  and  love  was  very  sweet  to  her,  but  it  was 
when,  having  exhausted  his  praises  and  his  declarations 
he  leaned  forward  his  head  on  his  hand,  and  said,  "  Onty 
love  me,  Roxy,  if  you  can,"  that  she  was  deeply  moved. 
She  ceased  her  caresses  of  the  boy  and  looked  out  of  the 
window  in  silence,  as  though  she  would  fain  find  some 
thing  there  that  might  show  her  a  way  out  of  the  perplexi 
ties  into  which  her  life  had  come.  Bobo,  in  whose  mind 
there  was  always  an  echo,  caught  at  the  last  words,  and 
imitating  the  very  tone  of  the  minister,  pleaded : 

"  Only  love  me,  Roxy,  if  you  can." 

This  was  too  much  for  the  girl's  pent-up  emotions,  she 
caught  the  lad  and  pressed  him  in  her  arms  eagerly,  say 
ing  or  sobbing  : 

"  Yes,  I  will  love  you,  Bo,  God  bless  you !  " 

She  had  no  sooner  relaxed  her  hold  than  the  minister, 
in  whose  eyes  were  tears,  put  his  own  arm  about  the 
simple  lad  and  embraced  him,  much  to  the  boy's  delight. 
Tliis  act,  almost  involuntary  as  it  was,  touched  Roxy's 
very  heart.  She  was  ready  in  that  moment  to  have  given 
herself  to  the  good  man. 

But  again  she  looked  out  of  the  window,  straining  her 
eyes  in  that  blind,  instinctive,  searching  stare,  to  which 
we  are  all  prone  in  time  of  perplexity.  There  was  nothing 
without  but  some  pea-vines,  climbing  and  blossoming  on 
the  brush  which  supported  them,  a  square  bed  of  lettuce, 
and  a  hop-vine  clambering  in  bewildering  luxuriance 


A    WEATHER-BREEDER  111 

over  the  rail  fence.     The  peaceful  hen-mother,  troubled 
by  no  doubts  or  scruples,  scratched  diligently  in  the  soft 
earth,  clucking  out  her  content  with  a  world  in  which 
there  were  plenty  of  angle-worms,  and  seeming  in  her 
placidity  to  mock  at  Roxy's  perturbation.     "Why  should 
all  these  dumb  creatures  be  so  full  of  peace  ?     Roxy  had  \ 
not  learned  that   internal  conflicts    are  the    heritage  of  i 
superiority.     It  is  so  easy  for  small-headed  stupidity  to  I 
take  no  thought  for  the  morrow. 

But  all  that  Roxy,  with  her  staring  out  of  the  window, 
could  see  was  that  she  could  not  see  anything  at  all. 

"  Will  you  tell  me,  Miss  Adams,"  asked  the  minister, 
presently,  "  whether  I  am  treading  where  I  ought  not — 
whether  you  are  engaged  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  not."  Roxy  was  a  little  startled  at  his  ad 
dressing  her  as  "  Miss  Adams."  For  in  a  western  village 
the  Christian  name  is  quite  the  common  form  of  speech 
to  a  young  person. 

There  was  another  long  silence,  during  which  Roxy 
again  inquired  of  the  idle-looking  pea-vines,  and  the 
placid  hen,  and  the  great,  green  hop-vine  clambering  over 
the  fence.  Then  she  summoned  courage  to  speak : 

"Please,  Mr.  Whittaker,  give  me  time  to  think — to 
think  and  pray  for  light.  Will  you  wait — wait  a  week — 
or  so  ?  I  cannot  see  my  way." 

"  I  cannot  see  my  way,"  put  in  Bobo,  pathetically. 

"Certainly,  Roxy.     Good-bye  !  " 

She  held  out  her  hand,  he  pressed  it  but  without  looking 
at  her^face,  put  on  his  hat,  and  shook  hands  with  little 
Bobo,  whose  sweet  infantile  face  looked  after  him  wist 
fully. 

He  was  gone  and  Roxy  sighed  with  relief.  But  she 
had  only  postponed  the  conflict. 


112  BOXY. 

The  minister,  who  had  carried  away  much  hope,  met 
Mr.  Adams  in  the  street,  and,  partly  because  he  felt 
friendly  toward  everybody  and  toward  all  connected  with 
Koxy  in  particular,  he  stopped  to  talk  with  him ;  and  he 
in  turn  was  in  one  of  his  most  contrary  moods,  and  took 
pains  to  disagree  with  the  preacher  about  everything. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  day,"  said  Whittaker  at  last,  as  he 
was  saying  good-bye,  resolved  perhaps  to  say  one  thing 
which  his  friend  could  not  controvert. 

"Yes,  nice  day,"  growled  Adams,  "but  a  weather- 
breeder." 

This  contradictoriness  in  the  shoe-maker  took  all  the 
hopefulness  out  of  Whittaker.  The  last  words  seemed 
ominous.  He  returned  home  dejected,  and  when  Twou- 
net  essayed  to  cheer  him  and  to  give  him  an  opportunity 
for  conversation  by  saying  that  it  was  a  beautiful  day, 
he  startled  himself  by  replying,  with  a  sigh : 

"  Yes,  but  a  weather-breeder." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

CAllPET-RAGS   AND   KDBBCNS. 

"  IT  seems  t3  me " 

It  was  Mrs.  Henrietta  Hanks  speaking  to  her  faithful 
Jemima  on  the  day  after  the  events  recorded  in  the  pre 
vious  chapter  of  this  story.  Jemima  and  her  mistress 
were  cutting  up  all  manner  of  old  garments  and  sewing 
them  into  carpet-rags,  while  Bonaparte  Hanks,  whose 
name  is  better  known  to  our  readers  in  its  foreshortened 
form  as  Bobo,  was  rolling  the  yellow  balls  of  carpet-rags 
across  the  floor  after  the  black  ones,  and  clapping  hia 
hands  in  a  silly  delight. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Hanks,  "  that  Mark  and 
Roxy  will  make  a  match  of  it." 

"  Umph,"  said  Jemima.  She  did  not  say  "umph," — 
nobody  says  that ;  but  she  gave  forth  one  of  those  guttural 
utterances  which  are  not  put  down  in  the  dictionary.  The 
art  of  alphabetic  writing  finds  itself  quite  unequal  to  the 
task  of  grappling  with  such  words,  and  so  we  write  others 
which  nobody  ever  uses,  such  as  umph  and  eh  and  ug/i,  as 
algebraic  signs  to  represent  the  unknown  quantity  of  an 
expressive  and  perhaps  unique  objurgation.  Wherefore, 
let  "  umph,"  which  Jemima  did  not  say,  equal  the  in 
tractable,  un definable,  not-to-be-spelled  word  which  she 
did  use.  And  that  undefinable  word  was  in  its  turn  an 
algebraic  symbol  for  a  whole  sentence,  a  formula  for 
general,  contemptuous,  and  indescribable  dissent. 

"  He  goes  there  a  good  deal,"  replied  Mrs.  Hanks,  a 
little  subdued  by  Jemima's  mysterious  grunt 


114  BOXY. 

"  I  thought  he'd  made  a  burnt  sackerfice  of  hisself  and 
laid  all  on  the  altar,  and  was  agoin'  off  to  missionate  among 
the  Texicans,"  said  Jemima,  prudently  reserving  her 
heavier  shot  to  the  last,  and  bent  on  teasing  her  opponent. 

"  Well,  I  don't  imagine  that'll  come  to  anything,"  said. 
Mrs.  Hanks.  "  Young  Christians  in  their  first  love,  you 
know,  always  want  to  be  better  than  they  ought,  and  I 
don't  think  Mark  ought  to  throw  away  his  great  opportu 
nities.  Think  how  much  good  he  might  do  in  Congress ; 
and  then,  you  know,  a  Christian  congressman  is  such  an 
ornament — to — to  the  church." 

"  An'  to  all  his  wife's  relations  besides,"  chuckled  the 
wicked  Jemima.  "  But  for  my  part,  I  don't  'low  he's 
more'n  a  twenty-'leventh  part  as  good  as  Roxy.  She's 
jam  up  all  the  time,  and  he's  good  by  spells  and  in  streaks 
— one  of  the  fitty  and  jerky  kind." 

"  Jemima,  you  oughtn't  to  talk  that  way."  Mrs.  Hanks 
always  pitted  her  anger  and  her  slender  authority  against 
Jemima's  rude  wit.  "  You  don't  know  but  Mark  '11  come 
to  be  my  nephew,  and  you  ought  to  have  more  respect  for 
my  feelings." 

"  They  haint  no  immegiate  danger  of  that?  answered 
Jemima,  with  emphasis.  "He  may  come  to  be  your 
nephew  to  be  sure,  and  the  worl'  may  stop  off  short  all  to 
wtinst  and  come  to  a  eend  by  Christmas.  But  neither  on 
'em's  likely  enough  to  make  it  wuth  while  layin'  awake 
to  think  about  it." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  "Well,  I  went  over  arter  Bobo  yesterday  evenin',*  an' 
what  d'ye  think  I  see  ?  " 

*  "  Evening,"  in  the  Ohio  valley  and  in  the  South,  is  used  in  ita 
primary  sense  of  the  later  afternoon,  not  as  in  the  eastern  states,  to 
signify  the  time  just  after  dark. 


CARPET-RAGS  AND  RIBBONS.  115 

Mrs.  Hanks  did  not  inquire,  so  Jemima  was  obliged  to 
proceed  on  her  own  account. 

"  I  see  Mr.  Whittaker  a-comin'  out  of  the  house,  with 
his  face  all  in  &  flash,  like  as  ef  he'd  been  a-talkin'  sumpin 
pertikular,  an'  he  spoke  to  me  kinder  shaky  and  trimblin 
like.  An'  when  I  come  in,  I  see  Roxy's  face  sort  a  red 
and  white  in  spots,  and  her  eyes  lookin'  down  and  to  one 
sides,  and  anywheres  but  straight, — kinder  wanderV 
roun'  onsartain,  like's  ef  she  wus  af eared  you'd  look  into 
'em  and  see  sumpin  you  hadn't  orter." 

"Well,  I  do  declare  !  "  Whenever  Mrs.  Hanks  found 
herself  entirely  at  a  loss  for  words  and  ideas  she  proceeded 
after  this  formula  to  declare.  She  always  declared  that 
she  did  declare,  but  never  declared  what  she  declared. 

"  Well,  I  do  declare ! "  she  proceeded  after  a  pause. 
"  Jemimy  Dumbleton,  if  that  don't  beat  the  Dutch !  for 
you  to  go  prying  into  people's  houses,  and  peeping 
into  their  eyes  and  guessing  their  secrets,  an$  then 
to  run  around  tattling  them  all  over  town  to  everybody, 
and " 

But  the  rest  of  this  homily  will  never  be  known,  for  at 
this  critical  moment  the  lad  with  the  ambitious  name,  who 
was  engaged  in  developing  his  military  genius  ry  firing  car 
pet-rag  cannon-balls  in  various  directions  and  watching  their 
rebound,  made  a  shot  which  closed  the  squabble  between 
Mrs.  Hanks  and  her  help.  He  bowled  a  bright  red  ball — 
relic  of  an  old  flannel  shirt — through  the  middle  of  a 
screen  which  covered  the  fire-place  in  the  summer. 
When  he  heard  the  crashing  of  the  ball  through  the  paper 
he  set  up  a  shout  of  triumph,  clapping  his  hands  together, 
but  when  he  saw  that  his  missile  did  not  come  back  from 
its  hiding-place,  he  stood  looking  in  stupefied  curiosity  at 
the  screen,  the  paper  of  which  had  almost  closed  over  the 


116  ROXY. 

rent.  He  was  quite  unable  to  account  for  the  sudden  and 
total  eclipse  of  his  red  ball. 

Mrs.  Hanks  saw  with  terror  the  screen,  which  had  cost 
the  unskilled  hands  of  herself  and  Jemima  two  or  three 
hours  of  cutting  and  planning  and  pasting,  destroyed  at  a 
blow.  Mischief  done  by  responsible  hands  has  this  com 
pensation,  that  one  has  the  great  relief  of  scolding,  but 
one  would  as  well  scold  the  wind  as  to  rebuke  so  irre 
sponsible  an  agent  as  Bobo.  Mrs.  Hanks  seized  him  by 
the  collar  and  shook  him,  then  ran  to  the  screen  and 
put  her  hands  behind  it,  holding  the  pieces  in  place  as  one 
is  prone  to  do  in  such  a  case.  It  is  the  vague,  instinctive 
expression  of  the  wish  that  by  some  magic  the  injury 
might  be  recalled.  Then  she  looked  at  her  late  antago 
nist,  Jemima,  for  sympathy,  and  then  she  looked  at  the 
rent  and  uttered  that  unspellable  interjection  made  by 
resting  the  tongue  against  the  roof  of  the  mouth  and  sud 
denly  withdrawing  it  explosively.  One  writes  it  "  tut- 
tut-tut,"  but  that  is  not  it  at  all. 

Bobo  fretted  a  little,  as  he  generally  did  after  being 
shaken  up  in  this  way,  but  having  recovered  his  red  ball, 
he  was  on  the  point  of  dashing  it  through  the  screen 
again,  when  his  mother  prudently  took  it  away  from  him, 
put  on  his  cap,  led  him  to  the  door  and  said : 

"  Go  to  Boxy." 

"  Go  to  Roxy ! "  cried  the  little  fellow,  starting  down 
the  path,  repeating  the  words  over  and  over  to  himself  a6 
he  went,  as  though  he  found  it  needful  to  revive  instantly 
his  feeble  memory  of  his  destination. 

Having  thus  comfortably  shed  her  maternal  responsibil 
ities,  Mrs.  Hanks  proceeded  to  shed  the  carpet-rags  also, 
by  arraying  herself  to  go  out.  This  was  a  very  simple 
matter,  even  for  the  wife  of  one  of  the  principal  men  in 


CARPET-RAGS  AND  RIBBONS.  117 

tlie  town,  for  in  those  good  old  days  of  simplicity  nothing 
more  elaborate  than  a  calico  dress  and  sun-bonnet  was 
needed  to  outfit  a  lady  for  shopping.  Mrs.  Ilanks's  •sun- 
bonnet  was  soon  adjusted,  and  she  gave  Jemima  a  fare 
well  look,  expressive  of  her  horror  of  gossiping  propen 
sities,  and  then  proceeded  to  where  the  tin  sign  beside 
the  door  read,  "  Miss  Moore,  Millinery  and  Mantua- 
maker,"  for  the  purpose  of  verifying  Jemima's  report. 

Miss  Moore  was  all  attention.  She  showed  Mrs.  Hanks 
the  latest  novelty  in  scoop-shovel  bonnets  which  she  had 
just  brought  from  Cincinnati,  got  out  her  box  of  ribbons 
and  set  it  on  the  table,  and  assented  to  everything  Mrs. 
Hanks  said  with  her  set  formula  of  "  very  likely,  Mrs. 
Hanks,  very  likely." 

Miss  Moore  was  not  at  all  the  conventional  old  maid. 
She  was  one  of  the  mild  kind,  whose  failure  to  marry 
came  neither  from  flirting  nor  from  a  repellent  temper, 
nor  from  mere  chance,  but,  if  it  is  needful  to  account 
for  it  at  all,  from  her  extreme  docility.  A  woman  who 
says  "  indeed  "  and  "  very  likely  "  to  everything,  is  very 
flavorless.  Adams  had  concluded  to  marry  her  now,  per 
haps,  because  he  liked  paradoxes  and  because  Miss  Moore 
with  her  ready  assent,  would  be  the  sharpest  possible  con 
trast  to  his  contradictoriness.  Then,  too,  she  was  the  only 
person  he  could  think  of  with  whom  he  could  live  with 
out  quarreling.  She  never  disputed  anything  he  said,  no 
matter  how  outrageous.  He  experimented  on  her  one 
day  by  proving  to  her,  conclusively,  that  polygamy  was  best 
and  according  to  Scripture,  and  when  he  had  done  and 
looked  to  see  her  angry,  she  smiled  and  said,  "  Very  likely 
• — very  likely,  indeed." 

Now  that  the  long-becalmed  bark  of  Miss  Moore  was 
about  to  sail  into  the  looked-for  haven,  she  set  all  her 


118  HOXY. 

pennons  flying.  This  call  from  Mrs.  Hanks,  who  was  the 
sister  of  the  first  Mrs.  Adams,  seemed  to  her  very  signifi 
cant.  She  became  more  complaisant  than  ever  before. 
If  Mrs.  Hanks  thought  the  orange  ribbon  a  little  toe 
bright,  Miss  Moore  said,  "  very  likely,  indeed."  If  Mrs. 
Hanks  thought  the  blue  just  the  thing,  Miss  Moore  was  igain 
impressed  and  said,  "  very  likely."  But  when  Mrs. 
Hanks  said  that  on  the  whole  the  blue  would  not  do,  Miss 
Moore  thought  so,  too. 

At  last  Mrs.  Hanks  pushed  back  her  sun-bonnet,  fin 
gered  the  rolls  of  ribbon  absently,  and  approached  the 
point  of  attack. 

"  Well,  Miss  Moore,  they  do  say  you're  not  going  to  be 
Miss  Moore  always." 

The  milliner  smiled  and  blushed  and  bridled  a  little, 
and  then  gave  way  and  tittered.  For  when  a  woman's 
courtship  comes  late,  the  omitted  emotions  of  her  girlhood 
are  all  interpolated  farther  on,  and  it  is  no  affectation  for 
her  to  act  like  a  young  girl.  Young  girl  she  is  in  all  tho 
fluttering  emotions  of  a  young  girl.  Only  the  fluttering 
does  not  seem  to  us  so  pretty  and  fitting  as  it  might  have 
been  twenty  years  earlier. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  Roxy  won't  trouble  you  long." 

Miss  Moore  looked  mysterious. 

"  Yery  likely,  indeed,"  she  replied,  and  then  added 
with  a  blush,  "  I've  heard  she  has  a  beau."  Miss  Mooro 
had  heard  only  of  Mark's  attentions,  but  the  suspicious 
Mrs.  Hanks  was  now  on  the  track  of  Whittaker. 

"  Mr.  Whittaker  ? "  she  queried. 

"  Very  likely."  This  was  said  partly  from  liabit  and 
partly  to  cover  her  real  surprise  at  hearing  the  name  oi 
Whittaker.  But  this  mechanical  assent  did  not  satisfy  the 
inquisitive  lady. 


CARPET-HAGS  AND  RIBBONS.  119 

"  Now  do  you  know  anything  about  it,  Miss  Moore  ? 
Don't  say  l  very  likely '  but  tell  me  plainly." 

Miss  Moore  was  cornered.  She  did  not  want  to  tell  a 
lie,  for  Miss  Moore  was  as  truthful  as  a  person  of  her 
mild  temper  could  be.  But  she  was  very  loth  to  confess 
her  ignorance  and  thus  lose  something  of  her  importance 
in  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Hanks. 

"  Well,  being's  it's  you,  Mrs.  Hanks — being's  it's  you  " 
— Miss  Muore  spoke  as  though  she  were  going  to  sell  a  bon 
net  under  price — "  I  don't  mind  telling  you  the  plain  truth 
without  any  double-and-twisting.  I  tell  you  plainly  't  I 
shouldn't  be  surprised  'f  there  was  something  in  that,  now 
I  come  to  think  of  it.  Very  likely,  indeed." 

With  this  Mrs.  Hanks  had  to  be  content,  for  to  all  fur 
ther  inquiries  Miss  Moore  returned  6nly  her  stereotyped 
assent. 

At  last  Mrs.  Hanks  turned  away  from  the -ribbons 
without  buying  and  said  : 

"  Well,  I  must  be  going." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Miss  Moore  from  sheer  habit.  And 
then,  too,  she  was  turning  over  in  her  mind  the  intelli 
gence  Mrs.  Hanks  had  given  her,  and  what  a  nice  morsel 
it  would  be  to  tell  the  wife  of  the  ruling  elder  in  Mr. 
Whittaker's  church. 


CHAPTEK  XV. 


"  You  don't  say  so."  It  was  Sheriff  Lathers  who  spoke, 
as  he  did  so,  putting  his  boots  up  on  the  mantel-piece, 
leaning  back  in  his  chair  and  spitting  in  the  fire-place — 
expectorating  by  way  of  facilitating  the  expression  of  his 
ideas.  He  never  could  say  anything  of  great  importance 
without  stopping  to  spit,  and  his  little  clique  of  hangers-on 
knew  that  when  Major  Tom  Lathers  thus  loosened  his 
mental  machinery  he  was  about  to  say  something  quite 
oracular.  It  was  the  signal  for  general  silence  and 
intense  Attention  on  the  part  of  the  bottle-nosed  deputy 
and  other  interested  disciples  of  the  eminent  and  astute 
political  philosopher  whose  misfortune  it  was  that  he 
must  repose  his  boots  on  the  poplar  mantel-piece  in  the 
sheriff's  office  in  Luzerne,  rather  than  on  the  sofas  in  the 
United  States  Senate  Chamber,  for  which  last  position  of 
repose  nature  had  clearly  intended  him.  But  while  I  have 
thus  digressed  the  philosopher  has  run  his  sharp  gray  eyes 
in  a  scrutinizing  way  around  the  circle  of  ad  miring  loafers, 
has  rammed  his  fists  into  his  pockets,  corrugated  his  in 
tellectual  brow,  resumed  his  meditative  stare  at  the  fire- 
plactj  in  which  there  are  the  charred  relics  of  the  last 
fire  it  contained,  destined  to  remain  until  the  next  fire 
shall  be  lighted  in  the  fall.  And  now  he  is  ready  tc 
speak. 

"  Well,  I'll  be  swinged  ! ''     Here  he  paused.     Pauses 
of  this  sort  wrhet  people's  appetites.     He  looked  about 


MARK'S  MISSION.  121 

him  once  more  to  be  sure  that  he  had  now  fairly  arrested 
the  whole-hearted  attention  of  his  devout  followers. 

"  I  didn't  believe  no  ways,  as  Mark  Bonamy  would  go, 
and  he  wouldn't  a  gone  a  step  ef  the  ole  man  hadn't  a 
threatened.  Mark's  one  of  this 'ere  kind:  you  can  coax 
him  and.  to!  e  him  with  a  yer  of  corn,  but  jist  try  to  drive 
him  and  he  won't.  'Git  up,'  says  you,  'I  won't,'  says  he; 
6  Git  up  there]  says  you,  '  I'll  be  dogged  ef  I  do,'  says  he, 
and  lets  his  heels  fly  and  you  keel  over  backward.  I 
tried  drivin'  and  tolin'  last  summer  and  he  kicked  up 
every  time  I  tried  the  spurs  onto  him.  But  he's  goin'  to 
Texas  shore  enough,  they  say.  That'll  wear  out  soon  and 
he'll  be  back  here,  like  the  prodigal  son,  eatin'  swine's 
flesh  with  the  rest  of  us." 

Here  he  gave  a  knowing  look  at  each  of  his  auditors 
and  received  a  significant  blink  in  return. 

Just  at  this  point  Mark  Bonamy  himself  came  in  to 
attend  to  some  business  with  the  sheriff's  deputy. 

"  Good  morning,  Major,5"'  he  said,  half -conscious  at  once 
that  he  had  interrupted  some  conversation  about  himself. 

"  Howdy,  Mark  ?  Goin'  to  Texas,  shore  as  shootin',  so 
they  say  ? " 

"  Yes."  This  with  some  hesitation,  as  of  a  man  who 
would  fain  make  an  avowal  with  reserve  lest  he  should 
want  to  creep  out  of  it. 

"  Well,  Mark,"  here  Lathers  paused,  placed  his  feet  on 
the  mantel-piece  again  and  again  performed  the  prelimi 
nary  rite  of  expectoration,  "I  do  say  that  they  aint  many 
folks  that  gives  up  more'n  you  do  in  goin'  away  on  a  fool 
mission  to  convert  the  heathen.  Now,  Mark,  it  mayn't  be 
a  bad  move  after  all.  Texas  is  a  small  republic,  and  you 
may  come  to  be  president  there,  like  Joseph  did  in  the 
land  of  Canaan.  Hey?  And  Texas  may  be  hitched  on 
6 


122  ROXY. 

behind  Uncle  Sam's  steamboat  some  d&y  as  a  sort  of  yawl, 
In  which  case  look  out  for  Mark  Bonamy,  United  States 
Senator.  It's  better  to  be  capt'in  of  a  yawl  than  deck- 
luind  on  board  the  4  General  Pike.'  I  don't  know  whether 
you're  si<,?h  a  fool  after  all.  Joseph  didn't  go  down  into 
Egypt  for  nothing.  He  had  his  eye  on  the  corn." 

Here  Lathers  winked  at  the  deputy's  luminous  nose,  and 
then  looked  seriously  at  Bonamy.  Somehow  Mark,  at  this 
moment,  felt  ashamed  of  his  mission,  and  was  quite  will 
ing  to  have  Lathers  impute  to  him  interested  designs 
rather  than  to  appear  to  the  eyes  of  that  elevated  moral 
philosopher  a  man  who  was  somewhat  disinterested  and 
therefore  a  fool.  The  real  chameleon  is  a  sensitive  vanitv, 
prone  to  change  color  with  every  change  of  surrounding. 

Mark  Bonamy  was  not  yet  a  licensed  preacher,  nor  even 
an  exhorter,  for  his  probation  of  six  months  had  not  ex 
pired.  He  exhorted  in  meeting  by  general  consent,  but 
as  a  layman.  A  glowing  account  of  his  abilities  and  of 
his  missionary  enthusiasm  had  been  sent  to  Bishop  Hed- 
ding,  who  immediately  booked  him  in  his  mind  as  suited 
to  some  dangerous  and  difficult  role ;  for  Hedding  looked 
on  men  as  a  chess-player  does  upon  his  pieces,  he  weighed 
well  the  difference  between  a  knight  and  a  rook,  and  es 
pecially  between  a  piece  with  great  powers  and  a  mere 
pawn.  The  death  of  Dr.  Martin  Ruter  had  weakened  the 
Texan  mission.  In  Mark,  as  described  to  him,  he  saw  a 
man  of  force  who  might  in  time  prove  of  the  utmost  value 
to  the  church  in  that  new  republic.  So  he  wrote  to  Mark, 
asking  if  he  would  proceed  in  the  autumn  to  Texas  and 
take  a  place  as  second  man  on  a  circuit  of  some  live  hun 
dred  miles  around,  with  forty-seven  preaching-places. 
The  letter  came  at  the  right  moment,  for  Bonamy  had  just 
returned  from  the  great  camp-meeting  in  Moore's  Woods, 


MARK'S  MISSION.  123 

with  all  his  religious  enthusiasm  and  missionary  zeal  at 
white  heat.  He  had  renewed  for  the  tenth  time  in  six 
months  his  solemn  consecration  of  himself  to  some  great 
work,  had  made  a  public  and  penitent  confession  of  his 
backslidings,  and  resolved  to  grow  cold  no  more.  And  of 
all  his  spiritual  leaders  none  were  wise  enough  tr  know 
and  point  out  to  him  that  this  keying  himself  higher  than 
his  impulsive  nature  would  bear,  was  one  of  his  chief 
perils.  Reactions  were  inevitable  while  he  continued  to 
be  Mark  Bonamy. 

But  while  he  was  thus,  as  Cartwright  would  have  said, 
"under  a  shouting  latitude,'7  there  came  the  letter  from 
the  great  bishop  like  the  voice  of  God  telling  him  to  leave 
his  father's  house,  and  to  get  him  out  into  the  wilderness 
to  seek  the  lost  sheep.  Many  a  man  gets  committed  to 
some  high  and  heroic  course  in  his  best  moment,  often 
wondering  afterward  by  what  inspiration  he  was  thus 
raised  above  himself.  Happy  is  he  whose  opportunity  of 
decision  finds  him  at  high-water  mark.  Happy,  if  ho 
have  stability  enough  to  stand  by  his  decision  after  it  is 
made. 

Mark  was  not  without  debate  and  hesitation.  He 
might  even  now  have  faltered  but  for  two  things.  The 
influence  of  Roxy  and  of  his  father  alike  impelled  him  to 
accept.  As  soon  as  the  word  came  to  Colonel  Bonamy 
that  Mark  had  received  such  a  letter,  he  did  his  best,  un 
wittingly,  to  confirm  him  in  his  purpose  by  threatening 
him  again  with  disinheritance.  It  only  needed  to  awaken 
the  son's  combativenesa  to  give  his  resolution  strength  and 
consistency.  Even  the  religious  devotion  of  a  martyr  may 
gain  tone  from  inborn  oppugnancy. 

Then  there  was  the  influence  of  Roxy.  Her  relation  to 
Mark  was  only  that,  of  a  confidential  religious  friend. 


124  ROXT. 

He  had  had  occasion  to  consult  her  rather  frequently, 
sometimes  when  meeting  her  on  the  street,  sometimes 
calling  at  her  house.  But  how  often  does  one  have  to  re 
mark  that  mere  friendship  between  a  young  man  and  a 
young  woman  is  quite  impossible  for  any  considerable 
time.  There  is  no  King  Knud  who  can  say  to  the  tide  of 
human  affection,  "  thus  far  and  no  farther."  Mark's  love 
for  Roxy  had  ceased  to  be  Platonic — he  was  not  quite 
Plato.  But  how  should  he  even  confess  to  himself  that 
he  loved  Roxy.  For  loving  Roxy  and  going  on  a  mission 
to  the  Brazos  River  were  quite  inconsistent.  A  man  was 
not  supposed  to  want  a  wife  to  help  him  fight  Indians, 
rattlesnakes,  Mexican  desperadoes  and  starvation.  And 
to  give  up  the  mission  for  Roxy's  sake  would  have  been  to 
give  up  Roxy  also.  He  knew  dimly  that  it  was  only  in 
the  light  of  a  self-sacrificing  hero  that  she  admired  him. 
Perhaps  he  unconsciously  recognized  also  that  this  admi 
ration  of  him  on  her  part  had  served  to  keep  his  purpose 
alive. 


CHAPTER  XVT. 

AFTER   THE    MEETING. 

OK  the  Wednesday  evening  following  MarVs  reception 
of  his  call  to  go  to  Texas  and  his  talk  with  Lathers,  he 
would  fain  see  Roxy.  It  was  the  evening  of  the  prayer- 
meeting,  and  if  he  had  been  prone  to  neglect  it,  he  would 
have  found  Roxy  nowhere  else.  But  he  had  no  inclina 
tion  in  his  present  state  of  feeling  to  go  away  from  the 
meeting. 

The  brethren  had  heard  of  the  call  to  the  mission,  and 
most  touching  prayers  were  offered  for  his  welfare  and 
success.  Mark  himself  prayed  with  deep  and  genuine 
pathos.  Toward  the  last  the  minister  called  on  Roxy  to 
pray,  and  she  who  had  been  born  full  of  the  missionary 
spirit,  who  would  have  rejoiced  to  lay  down  her  life  for 
the  lost  sheep  in  the  wilderness,  who  had  been  the  source 
of  most  of  Mark's  inspiration,  began  to  pray,  not  with  her 
accustomed  directness  and  fervor,  but  with  a  faltering 
voice.  Twonnet's  fortune-telling  had  awakened  in  Roxy 
a  sense  of  the  strength  of  her  own  feeling  for  Mark,  and 
with  this  came  a  maidenly  delicacy.  She  faltered,  hesi 
tated,  picked  her  words,  prayed  in  platitudes,  until  at  last, 
after  mentioning  Mark  only  in  the  most  general  way,  shu 
proceeded  to  pray  for  those  to  whom  he  was  sent.  A1J 
the  force  of  her  strong  nature  found  utterance  in  the  cry 
of  the  lost,  and  when  she  ceased  everybody  was  weep 
ing  And  when  the  brethren  and  sisters  rose  from  theij 


126  ROXY. 

knees,  the  old  schoolmaster  in  the  amen  comer  started  to 
sing: 

u  From  Greenland's  icy  mountains ;  " 

and  as  everybody  sang  it  with  feeling,  Mark  felt  ashamed 
that  he  should  ever  have  thought  of  any  other  life  than 
that  of  a  missionary.  It  were  better  to  die  of  malarial 
fever  among  the  rowdies  and  rattlesnakes  of  the  Brazos 
River,  than  to  live  a  thousand  years  in  ease  and  plenty. 
And  when  at  the  close  of  the  meeting  the  military  notes 
of  "  Am  I  a  Soldier  of  the  Cross  \ "  resounded  through 
the  old  meeting-house,  Mark  regretted  that  so  much  time 
would  intervene  before  he  could  reach  the  field  of  battle. 

In  this  state  of  enthusiasm  he  walked  home  with  Roxy. 
And  this  enthusiasm  lifted  him  almost  to  the  height  of 
Roxy's  perpetual  exaltation.  They  talked  of  that  in 
which  they  both  were  interested,  and  is  it  strange  that 
they  were  drawn  the  one  to  the  other  by  their  community 
of  feeling?  Mark  did  not  even  now  distrust  himself;  he 
did  not  once  imagine  that  there  was  any  difference  be 
tween  his  flush  of  zeal,  and  the  life-long  glow  of  eager 
unselfishness  and  devoutness  that  was  the  very  essence  of 
the  character  of  Roxy.  He  could  not  distinguish  between 
himself — thin  comet  that  he  was,  renewing  his  ever- wan 
ing  heat,  first  by  the  fire  of  this  sun  and  then  by  the  radi 
ance  of  that — and  Roxy,  the  ever-burning  fixed  star  whose 
firo  of  worship  and  charity  was  within  herself.  But  tak 
ing  himself  at  the  estimate  she  put  upon  him,  he  rejoiced 
in  having  a  friend  worthy  to  sympathize  with  him,  and 
when  he  parted  with  her,  he  pressed  Roxy's  hand  and 
said: 

"Oh,  Roxy!  if  you  were  only  going  with  me!-  Y~ou 
make  me  brave.  I  am  bettei  when  L  am  with  you. 


AFTER  THE  MEETING.  127 

Think  of  the  good  we  might  do  together.     Some  day  I 
shall  come  back  for  you  if  you'll  let  me." 

He  held  her  hand  in  both  of  his,  and  he  could  feel  her 
trembling. 

O 

His  voice  was  full  of  pleading,  and  Roxy  was  in  a  flut 
ter  of  mingled  admiration,  pity,  and  love.  That  this 
brave  servant  of  the  Lord,  taking  his  life  in  hand,  casting 
ambition,  friends,  and  property  behind  him,  should  appeal 
to  her !  She  dared  not  speak,  and  she  could  not  pray. 
In  a  moment  Bonamy  had  kissed  her  hand.  A  maidenly 
recoil  seized  her,  she  withdrew  her  hand,  opened  the  gate, 
and  ran  up  the  walk  between  the  rows  of  pretty-by-nights 
and  touch-me-nots.  It  was  not  until  she  stood  in  the  door 
with  her  hand  on  the  latch-string,  that  she  turned  toward 
her  companion  and  said  softly,  in  a  voice  suffused  with 
emotion  : 

"  Good-night,  Mark !  " 

And  then  she  went  into  the  house  with  her  soul  in 
chaos.  Zeal,  duty,  and  love  neither  contended  nor  agreed. 
The  scrupulous  girl  could  understand  nothing,  see  noth 
ing.  Pitying  thoughts  of  Whittaker  strove  with  her 
thoughts  of  Mark. 

And  that  night  she  dreamed  that  she  had  set  out  to  find 
the  lost  sheep  that  had  left  the  ninety-and-nine  and 
strayed  in  the  wilderness,  and  Mark  had  set  out  with  her. 
But  ever  they  became  more  and  more  separated  in  the 
thorn-thickets  of  Texas,  until  at  last  Mark  left  her  to  travel 
on  alone  while  he  gave  over  the  search.  And  the  thickets 
grew  higher  and  more  dense,  her  feet  were  pierced  with 
thorns,  and  her  body  exhausted  with  weariness.  She  saw 
panthers  and  catamounts  and  rattlesnakes  and  alligators 
and  indescribable  creatures  of  terror  about  her;  they 
hissed  at  her  and  rushed  upon  her,  so  that  she  shuddered 


128  ROXY. 

as  she  pushed  on  and  on  through  the  dense  brake,  won 
dering  whether  the  poor  lost  sheep  were  not  already  de 
voured.  But  at  last  she  came  upon  the  object  of  her 
search  environed  with  wild  beasts.  Trembling  with  terror 
she  broke  through  and  laid  hold  on  the  far- wandering 
sheep. — the  monsters  fled  before  her  and  the  impregnable 
fold  all  at  once  inclosed  her  and  the  lost  one.  Then  she 
discovered  that  the  lost  whom  she  had  saved,  was,  by  some 
transformation,  Mark  himself.  And  even  while  the  Shep« 
herd  was  commending  her,  the  trembling  girl  awoke. 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

A   REMONSTRANCE. 

AFTER  her  visit  to  the  millinery  and  ir  antua-makery  oi 
Miss  Moore,  Mrs.  Hanks  debated  with  herself  what  to  do. 
She  could  not  consult  Jemima,  for  Jemima  belonged  to 
the  enemy.  But  upon  debating  various  plans,  she  resolved 
to  see  Roxy  herself.  She  was  Roxy's  aunt,  and  the  aunt 
ought  to  have  some  influence  with  the  motherless  niece, 
she  reasoned.  She  was  a  little  ashamed  to  go  to  Roxy 
now,  it  was  so  long  since  she  had  entered  the  old  log- 
house  which  had  sheltered  her  childhood  in  the  days  when 
wandering  Indians  still  traversed  at  intervals  the  streets 
of  the  new  village  of  Luzerne.  But  then  she  had  been  so 
busy  with  her  own  children,  Roxy  ought  to  make  allow 
ance  for  that. 

These  explanations  she  made  to  Roxy  when  she  made 
her  call  on  the  next  day  after  the  prayer-meeting.  She 
couldn't  come  before.  And  then  Roxy  was  so  steady  that 
she  didn't  need  looking  after.  It  wasn't  every  girl  that 
could  keep  a  house  so  clean  and  do  so  much  for  her 
father.  All  this  talk  troubled  Roxy.  She  was  simple- 
minded  and  direct,  and  the  lurking  suspicion  of  ulterior 
purpose  in  her  aunt's  words,  and  the  consciousness  of  hav 
ing  something  to  conceal,  disturbed  her. 

"I  understand,  Roxy,"  she  said  at  last,  u  that  you've 
had  one  or  two  beaus  lately.  Now  you  know  that  I'm  in 
the  place  of  a  mother  to  you,  and  I  hope  you  won't  do 
anything  about  marrying  without  consulting  me." 


130  ROXY. 


bent  over  her  sewing  and  grew  red  in  the  face 
Mrs.  Hanks  interpreted  this  flush  of  indignation  as  a  blush. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  already  engaged,"  she  said,  with  an 
air  of  offense.  "  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  treat  your 
mother's  sister  in  that  way.  I  was  told  that  you  were  en 
gaged  to  Mr.  Whittaker.  I  must  say  I  don't  think  it  the 
best  you  can  do." 

u  I  arn  not  engaged  to  Mr.  Whittaker  or  to  anybody 
else,"  said  Roxy,  giving  way  to  her  rising  anger,  and 
breaking  her  needle.  tk  I  wish  people  would  mind  their 
own  business." 

"  Well,  Roxy,  I  must  say  that  is  not  a  nice  way  to  treat 
me  when  I  come  to  give  you  advice.  If  I  can't  talk  to 
you,  who  can  ?  " 

Roxy's  sense  of  injury  and  neglect  which  she  thought 
she  had  conquered  by  prayer  all  revived  now,  and  she  bit 
her  lip. 

"  I  tell  you  plainly,  Roxy,  that  if  you  marry  Mr.  Whit 
taker  you'll  get  a  cold  Presbyterian  that  does  not  believe 
in  real  heart  religion.  They  educate  their  ministers  with 
out  asking  whether  they  have  a  real  divine  call  or  not. 
Some  of  them,  I  expect,  are  not  soundly  converted.  And 
you  know  h<~w  you'll  suffer  for  the  means  of  grace  if  you 
join  the  Iresbyterians.  They  won't  have  any  praying  or 
speaking  by  women.  They  don't  have  any  class-meetings, 
and  1  don't  think  they  have  that  deep  depth  of  godliness 
you  know  that  we  Methodists  believe  in.  And  they  don't 
allow  shouting  or  crying,  and  that's  a  quenching  of  the 
spirit.  So  I  say.  For  David  says  in  the  Psalms  to  shout 
and  to  cry  aloud,  and  to  make  a  joyful  noise  unto  the 
Lord.  Now,  I  do  hope  you  won't  marry  a  cold-blooded 
Presbyterian  that  believes  in  predestination,  ard  that  a 
certain  number  was  born  to  be  dam  tied.  And  little  chil 


A  REMONSTRANCE.  131 

dren,  too,  for  the  Confession  of  Faith  says  that  children 
not  a  span  long  are  in  hell,  and " 

"The  Confession  of  Faith  don't  say  that,"  said  Royy. 

"  Oh !  you've  been  reading  it,  have  you.  I  didn't 
know  you'd  gone  so  far.  Now,  I  say  that  there's  some 
good  Christians  in  the  Presbyterian  church,  but  a  Metho 
dist  that  leaves  her  own  church  to  join  the  Presbyterians 
has  generally  backslid  beforehand.  And  a  girl  that 
changes  her  religion  to  get  a  husband " 

"  Who  said  I  meant  to  change  my  religion  to  get  a  hus 
band  \ "  Roxy  was  now  fiercely  angry.  "  If  you're 
going  to  talk  that  way,  I  will  not  stay  and  listen,"  and 
the  girl  drew  herself  up  proudly ;  but  her  sensitive  con 
science  smote  her  in  a  moment  for  her  anger,  and  she  sat 
down  again,  irresolute. 

"  Well,  Roxy,  you've  got  your  father's  temper  along 
with  your  mother's  religion.  Though  for  that  matter  I 
think  a  temper's  a  good  thing.  But  when  you've  got  a 
chance  to  marry  such  a  Methodist  as  Mark  Bonamy,  now, 
I  don't  see  why  you  should  take  a  poor  Presbyterian 
preacher  that  hasn't  got  a  roof  to  cover  his  head.  Mark'll 
get  over  his  mission  soon.  Missionary  fever  with  young 
Christians  is  like  wild  oats  with  young  sinners — it's  soon 
over.  You  can  cool  Mark  down  if  you  try.  Show  him 
how  much  good  he  can  do  if  he'll  stay  here  and  inherit 
his  father's  wealth.  But  Mark'll  get  his  share  anyway. 
The  old  man  won't  leave  him  out.  And  now,  Roxy, 
you'll  get  over  your  freaks  as  I  have  got  over  mine,  and 
if  you  miss  your  chance  you'll  be  sorry  for  it.  It  isn't 
every  day  a  girl  whose  father's  a  poor  shoe-maker  and 
who  lives  in  a  log-house,  gets  a  man  with  a  good  farm 
and  a  brick  house,  and  a  chance  of  going  to  Congress  or 
getting  to  be  a  bishop " 


132  ROXT. 

"  Oh  !  Aunt  Henrietta,  hush  !  "  E-oxy  was  on  her  feet 
now.  "  I've  got  nothing  to  do  with  Mr.  Whittaker  or 
Mark,  and  if  I  had,  you've  no  business  talking  that  way. 
If  you  don't  hush  I'll  say  something  awful." 

"  Well,  I  declare !  For  a  girl  as  religious  as  you,  that's 
a  pretty  how-do-ye-do,  ain't  it,  now  ?  " 

Here  Koxy  left  the  room  to  keep  herself  from  saying 
something  awful,  leaving  Mrs.  Henrietta  Hanks  to  gather 
her  cape  about  her  shoulders,  put  on  her  sun-bonnet  and 
depart  with  the  comfortable  feeling  that  she  "  had  cleared 
her  skirts  anyhow."  The  faithful  discharge  of  a  duty  dis 
agreeable  to  others  maketh  the  heart  cf  the  righteous  to 
rejoice. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

GOSSIP  AND   GIGGLING. 

Miss  MOORE  was  a  gossip  of  the  good-natured  kind. 
She  ne^er  told  anything  for  the  sake  of  harming  any 
body.  She  was  as  innocent  in  her  gossip  as  she  was  in 
her  habit  of  plucking  out  her  front  hair  with  tweezers  to 
make  her  forehead  intellectual.  The  milliner's  shop  in  a 
village  is  in  some  sort  a  news-depot.  People  bring  hither 
their  items  of  news  and  carry  away  whatever  has  been 
left  here  by  others.  It  is  a  fair  exchange.  The  milliner 
has  the  start  of  everybody  else  ;  for  who  should  know  so 
well  as  she  whether  Mrs.  Greathouse  will  wear  cherry 
ribbon  or  brown  \  Who  knows  the  premonitory  symp 
toms  of  a  wedding  so  well  as  the  skillful  woman  who 
trims  the  bonnet  ?  And  shall  we  condemn  gossip  ?  Only 
where  it  is  thoughtless  or  malicious.  For  without  the 
ventilating  currents  of  gossip  the  village  would  be  a  stag 
nant  pool.  We  are  all  gossips.  The  man  who  reads  the 
daily  paper  may  despise  the  "  tattle  "  of  the  town,  but  he/  j 
devours  the  tattle  of  the  reporter  who  gets  his  livelihood! 
by  gossip.  Whether  we  talk  about  a  big  world  or  a  little 
one,  it  is  the  gossip  about  others  that  saves  us  from  be 
coming  eremites  in  the  wilderness  of  our  own  egotism. 

But  did  the  red-bird  that  sang  under  Miss  Moore's  win 
dow  that  morning  ask  whether  his  notes  were  a  delight  to 
any  one's  ears  1  Or  did  he  just  whistle  becauso  whistling 
is  a  necessity  of  red-birdism  ?  Miss  Moore  for  her  part 
did  not  ask  whether  her  function  was  of  use  to  the  com 


134  ROXY. 

munity  or  not.  Tt  was  not  her  place  to  philosophize 
about  gossips,  but  to  gossip, — an  employment  in  which 
she  received  the  moral  support  of  the  best  citizens.  And 
in  a  village  the  general  consent  of  the  best  citizens  is  o* 
more  weight  than  the  decalogue. 

But  why  should  anything  so  clearly  beneficial  as  gossip 
be  carried  on  clandestinely  ?  Why  is  a  bit  of  gossip  told 
in  a  voice  that  has  something  sly  and  delightfully  wicked 
about  it  ?  Is  it  that  one  enjoys  copyrighted  information, 
which  one  is  not  to  tell, — or  at  most  not  with  the  name  of 
the  informant  attached  ?  Or  is  it  that  one  likes  to  fancy 
oneself  doing  something  forbidden  ? 

At  any  rate  Miss  Moore,  having  possession  of  a  bit  of 
information  which  she  knew  would  delight  Mrs.  Highbury, 
the  wife  of  the  principal  ruling  elder  of  Whittaker's 
church,  was  perplexed  to  find  a  pretext  for  calling  on  Mrs. 
Highbury  that  she  might  not  seem  to  have  come  on  pur 
pose  to  tell  tales.  Experienced  gossip  that  she  was,  she 
could  not  get  over  the  notion  that  her  traffic  in  information 
was  illicit.  She  might  have  called  on  Mrs.  Highbury  out 
right;  for  there  is  no  caste  feeling  in  a  village  that  pro 
scribes  the  milliner.  A  woman  was  none  the  worse  in  the 
Hoosier  Luzerne  in  1841  for  the  possession  of  that  kind  of 
skill  which  we  call  a  trade.  But  Miss  Moore,  at  last,  re 
membered  something  that  she  wanted  to  ask  Mrs.  High 
bury's  advice  about,  or  at  least  she  remembered  something 
concerning  which  she  contrived  to  make  herself  believe 
she  wanted  information  or  counsel.  So  Miss  Moore  went 
up  under  the  grape-vines  that  led  to  Mr.  Highbury's  door, 
and  then  around  over  the  stone-paved  walk  to  the  back 
door,  where  the  wide  arbor  shaded  the  broad  pavement, 
in  the  middle  of  which  stood  the  cistern  with  its  hook  in 
readiness  for  use. 


GOSSIP  AND   GIGGLING.  135 

Miss  Moore  went  in  over  the  broad  clean  porch  into  the 
Bitting-room  and  was  received  cordially;  for,  besides  her 
importance  as  a  milliner,  she  was  also  a  member  of  the 
Presbyterian  church,  and  in  those  days  of  polemical  ani 
mosities  a  small  and  somewhat  beleaguered  denomination 
held  closely  together. 

"  I  thought  Pd  run  over,  Mrs.  Highbury,  and  ask  you 
about  the  cape  to  your  bonnet.  How  long  do  you  think  it 
ought  to  be  ? " 

Mrs.  Highbury  had  a  habit  of  leaving  such  things  to  the 
superior  judgment  of  the  milliner.  For  the  milliner  to 
throw  the  decision  back  on  her,  was  like  asking  her  to 
solve  a  problem  in  geometry.  And  so  the  plump,  well- 
fed  little  lady  sank  down  into  her  arm-chair  and  began 
rocking  herself  so  energetically  as  to  lift  her  feet  off  the 
floor  at  each  tilt  backward.  Her  mind  was  exhausting  it 
self  in  thinking  how  impossible  it  was  that  she  should 
ever  decide  what  should  be  the  length  of  a  piece  of  rose- 
colored  silk  at  the  base  of  a  scoop-shovel  bonnet. 

"I  declare  to  goodness,  I  don't  know,  Miss  Moore." 
Here  Mrs.  Highbury  opened  her  fan,  and  began  to  ply  it 
and  rock  more  vigorously  and  cheerfully  than  before. 
';  Did  you  see  the  one  that  lady  from  Cincinnati  had  on  at 
church,  on  Sunday  ? " 

Of  course,  Miss  Moore  had  noted  every  bonnet  in  the 
church.  She  was  not  such  a  heathen  as  not  to  make  the 
most  of  her  "  Sabbath  and  sanctuary  privileges."  But  she 
did  not  reply  to  Mrs.  Highbury's  question.  For  here  was 
the  opportunity  she  had  sought.  It  was  a  dangerous  leap 
from  the  cape  of  a  straw  bonnet  in  church  to  the  par 
son's  love  affair,  6ut  there  might  not  come  a  better  oppor 
tunity. 

"  Yes  j  but  now  you  speak  of  church,  reimnds  me.    Did 


136  ROXT. 

you  notice  any  change  in  Mr.  Whittaker's  appearance  on 
Sunday?" 

"No,  I  didn't.     Why?" 

Miss  Moore  felt  her  superiority  now. 

"  Did  you  think  he  had  the  look  of  a  man  just  engaged 
to  be  married  ?  " 

"  You  don't  tell  me  Mr.  Whittaker's  going  to  be  mar 
ried,  "  cried  the  stout  little  lady,  forgetting  to  rock  and 
allowing  the  toes  of  her  shoes  to  rest  on  the  floor. 

"  Well ;  I  don't  say  anything  about  it.  I've  heard  some 
thing  of  the  kind." 

u  Who  to,  for  goodness  gracious'  sake  ?  " 

"  Well,  that's  a  delicate  question,  especially  in  view  of 
my  peculiar  circumstances ;  I  suppose  I  oughtn't  to  say 
anything." 

Miss  Moore  was  human,  and  she  knew  that  so  long  as 
she  had  a  secret  which  curious  Mrs.  Highbury  did  not 
know,  that  lady  was  her  humble  servant. 

"  Yes  ;  but  you  must  tell  me,  "  pleaded  Mrs.  Highbury. 
"  Mr.  Whittaker  ought  not  to  marry  without  consulting 
the  session.  And  if  he  consults  the  session  I  will  know,  I 
suppose.  You  can't  keep  secrets  between  man  and  wife." 

"  Very  likely.  But  you  know  with  me  it's  a  sort  of  a 

family  secret.  Not  exactly  a  family  secret "  here 

Miss  Moore  tittered  and  stammered.  "  Well,  you  know, 
I  didn't  mean  to  let  my  own  secrets  out,  but  I  suppose 
everybody  knows.  I  never  did  see  such  a  horrible  town 
for  talk  as  this  is.  They  wont  let  anybody's  private  affairs 
alone."  Here  Miss  Moore's  face  reddened,  and  she 
Binothered  a  girlish  giggle. 

Mrs.  Highbury  suddenly  leaned  forward  so  as  to  bring 
her  heels  on  the  floor  and  began  to  fan  herself  again. 

u  Why,  Kachel  Moore,  what  've  your  family  affairs  got  tc 


GOSSIP  AND   GIGGLING.  137 

do  with  Mr.  Whittaker's  marrying?  Is  lie  going  to  marry 
you  ?  You're  too  old, — I  mean  you're  already  engaged  tc 
Mr.  Adams,  they  say.  What  do  you  mean  ?  Don't  be  so 
mysterious,  or  folks  '11  think  you've  lost  your  senses." 

"  I  believe  I  have,"  said  Miss  Moore,  and  then  she 
burst  into  another  fit  of  laughing,  while  the  aristocratic 
little  dumpling  rocked  away  again  for  dear  life.  Hock 
ing  was  her  substitute  for  thinking.  ' 

Miss  Moore's  habitual  propriety  and  gravity  soon  came 
to  her  rescue,  and  she  attempted  to  explain  to  Mrs.  High 
bury  that  by  "  family  secret  "  she  meant  to  allude — eke- 
he — to  the  family — One— he — with  which  she  was  to  become 
the — the — che-he-he, — or  rather  that  Mr.  Whittaker  was 
not  going  to  che-he — marry  her, — but  that  it  was  some 
body  else  who  was  going  to  be  a  che-he-he-he, — that  is, 
he  was  going  che-he-he-he-he. 

Poor  Mrs.  Highbury  did  not  know  whether  to  laugh  or 
get  angry,  and,  being  in  doubt,  she  took  a  middle  course — 
she  rocked  herself.  Her  round  face  had  a  perplexed  and 
inj  ured  look,  as  she  waited  for  Miss  Moore  to  explain  her 
self. 

"  I  do  believe  that  I  am  che-he-he-he, "  said  Miss 
Moore. 

"  I  know  you  are,  Rachel.  Why  can't  you  control  your 
self  and  tell  a  straight  story  ?  Who  is  Mr.  Whittaker  going 
to  marry ;  you,  or  your  mother  ?  You  say  it's  in  your 
family." 

"  My  mother  1  Oh  !  che-he-he.  Not  my  mother,  but 
my  che— he— he." 

' '  Your  che-he-he !     What  do  you  mean  ? " 

"Not  my  che-he  mother,  but  my  daughter,  che-he-he." 

"  Your  daughter  !  Why,  Miss  Moore,  you  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  yourself." 


138 

"  I  don't  mean  my  che-he  daughter,  but  my  che-he-he 
-he-hoo ! " 

By  this  time,  little  fat  Mrs.  Highbury  was  also  laughing 
convulsively  and  screaming  between  her  fits  of  laughter. 

"  What  is — what  is  che-he,  what  is  your  che-he-he  ?  " 

"  My  che-he — my  che-he  step-daughter,  that  is  to  be." 

Mrs.  Highbury  grew  sober  and  began  to. wipe  her  eyes. 

"You  don't  mean  Boxy  Adams  ? " 

"Yes,  I  do." 

Mrs.  Highbury  shut  her  pretty  mouth  tight.  She  didn't 
know  whether  she  approved  or  disapproved  of  Roxy 
Adams.  How  could  she  tell  what  she  thought  until  she 
heard  Mr.  Highbury's  opinion  ?  For  Mrs.  Highbury's  role 
was  that  of  echo.  It  might  be  that  Roxy  Adams  would 
make  a  good  Presbyterian.  It  might  be  that  she  would 
corrupt  the  church.  Mrs.  Highbury  would  wait  until  her 
husband  spoke.  Then  she  would  give  him  back  his  own 
opinions  with  emphasis,  and  tell  her  friends  that  she  had 
"  told  Mr.  Highbury  so."  People  were  certain  that  the 
little  Mrs.  H.  had  great  influence  with  the  big  Mr.  Ji. 
Turned  him  round  her  little  finger, 


CHAPTEB  XIX. 

THE   RULING   ELDER   INTERFERES. 

MR.  HIGHBURY  was  a  Presbyterian  of  the  Western 
Pennsylvania  stamp.  Generations  of  training  in  the  Cal- 
vinistic  formulas  and  the  Presbyterian  forms  had  produced, 
perhaps,  a  hereditary  habit  of  thought.  He  could  not  see 
anything  in  any  other  light  than  that  of  his  traditional 
opinions.  Above  all,  these  mushroom  Methodists  who  did 
nothing  decently  or  in  order,  were  to  be  condemmed.  To 
admit  that  any  large  number  of  them  were  really  Christian 
would  be  to  suppose  that  God  had  chosen  to  convert  more 
people  through  unsound  doctrines  tending  to  Pelagianism 
than  he  had  through  the  preaching  of  the  true  doctrines 
of  divine  sovereignty  and  unconditional  election.  Tiie 
fact  that  so  many  Methodists  backslid  was  to  him  evidence 
beyond  question  that  they  had  not  much  of  God's  grace 
among  them. 

O 

When  Mrs.  Highbury  told  him  what  Miss  Moore  had 
said,  Mr.  Highbury  felt  that  the  time  for  rebuke  and  re 
proof  had  come.  The  revival  of  the  past  winter  had  irri 
tated  him.  The  large  numbers  that  had  joined  the  Meth 
odists  were  an  eye-sore  ;  for  churches  of  differing  sects  in  a 
small  town  are  very  like  rival  corner  grocers,  each  watch 
ing  with  jealous  eye  the  increase  of  his  neighbor's  trade. 

After  debating  the  matter  for  a  day  or  two  and  growing 
gradually  warm  with  righteous  indignation  as  he  reflected 


14:0  ItOXT. 

Mr.  Highbury  put  on  his  hat  on  Thursday  morning  and 
walked  down  the  street  toward  Lefaure's.  The  singing 
locusts  were  making  their  sweet,  monotonous,  drowsy  din 
in  the  air;  the  great  running  rose-bushes  were  climbing 
up  to  the  second-story  windows  with  their  arms  full  of 
white  and  red  and  yellow  roses ;  there  were  faint  sounds  of 
the  pastoral  music  of  tinkling  cow-bells  in  the  distance, 
and  on  either  hand  the  green  hills  grew  hazy  where  they 
were  touched  by  the  blue  sky  flecked  with  white  clouds. 
But  no  sound  of  singing  locust,  of  faint  far-away  cow  bells 
and  crowing  chickens,  or  sight  of  rich  rose-frees  or  vista  of 
high  wooded  hill  and  of  soft  white  cloud  sailing  through 
the  infinite  ocean  of  deep  blue  sky,  touched  the  soul  of  the 
ruling  elder.  Highbury's  horizon  was  narrow" ;  there  were 
no  objects  within  it  but  himself,  his  family,  his  trade,  and 
his  church.  All  else  was  far  away  in  the  dim  distance 
like  the  unnoted  sound  of  the  cow-bells.  For  there  is  a 
sky  in  every  man's  soul,  and  some  souls  are  near-sighted. 
On  the  other  hand,  Mr.  Whittaker's  sky  was  clear.  He 
came  out  of  his  room  at  nine  o'clock,  walked  along  the 
porch  and  stood  looking  at  the  hills  on  the  other  side  of 
the  river,  scanning  the  green  apples  in  the  young  trees 
near  at  hand,  and  watching  the  white  clouds,  not  in  the 
sky,  but  floating  in  the  under-sky,  which  he  saw  below  in 
the  waters  of  the  wide  river.  He  heard  faintly  the  dis 
tant  crowing  of  the  cocks — even  from  a  mile  away,  across 
the  river,  he  could  hear  them.  He  heard  the  cow-bells, 
and  the  "  chook,  chook, "  of  the  red-bird,  the  conversa 
tional  "  can't,  can't"  of  the  cat-bird,  whose  musical  powe-s 
had  all  been  exhausted  by  his  matin  song.  The  time  for 
him  to  see  Roxy  again  was  drawing  near,  and  his  spirit 
was  full  of  hope.  It  seemed  to  him  that  his  soul  was  like 
the  great,  wide  Ohio, — it  mirrored  in  its  depths  the  glorj> 


THE  RULING  ELDER  INTERFERES.  141 

ot  the  sky  above.  Presently  old  Jacques  Dupin-— Twon- 
net's  grandfather — came  hobbling  out  of  his  room  into  the 
sunlight.  He  was  a  picturesque  figure,  with  his  trowsers 
of  antiquated  cut,  his  loose  jacket,  and  his  red  yarn  cap 
pointed  at  the  top  and  tassel ed. 

Full  of  human  kindness  and  sympathy  this  morning, 
Whittaker  hurried  over  to  meet  the  octogenarian,  and  to 
inquire  how  he  was. 

"  Comment-vous  portez-vous  aujour-d'hui  ?"  cried  the 
minister  in  the  deaf  old  man's  ear. 

"Tres-bien,  vary  well,  I — remercie,  M'sieur."  The  old 
man  felt  obliged  to  make  an  effort  to  speak  in  English 
out  of  courtesy  to  Whitraker's  feeble  French. 

The  minister  assisted  him  to  a  seat  in  the  large  rocking- 
chair;  then  he  adjusted  a  stick  of  wood  under  the  rockers 
so  that  the  chair  would  not  rock,  for  the  old  .man  could 
not  bear  the  sense  of  insecurity  which  the  motion  of  the 
chair  gave  him. 

"Mr.  Weetakare, "  he  began,  in  a  querulous  voice,  as 
soon  as  his  feet  had  been  placed  upon  his  foot -stool, — 
"  Mr.  Weetakare,  je  ne  sais  quoi — I  don't  know  wat  God 
A'mighty  means.  Mon  frere — my  brothare  Guillaume, 
who  was  good  for  somet'in',  he  die ;  my  cousin  Bernard,  il 
ost  mort  aussi,  il  y  a  deux  ans — it  ees  so  much  as  two  yare 
past,  and  my  soeur,  she  aussi  ees  gone.  Moi — I  am  not 
wort'  so  much  as  a  picayune,  and  moi — je  leef  on,  on,  on. 
Pardi,  I  don't  know  wat  God  A'mighty  ees  about  to  leef 
to  dead  dree  wat  bears  no  pommes  at  all  and  to  cut  down 
all  de  rest.  Eh!  que  pensez-vous,  Monsieur — wat  you 
dink?" 

And  then  without  waiting  for  Mr.  Whittaker  to  reply, 
the  old  man  went  on : 

"Wen  I  was  a  boy  in  Suisse,  I  reuembare  dat " 


14:2  ROXT. 

But  it  was  at  the  beginning  of  this  reminiscence  that 
Mr.  Whittaker's  mind  wandered  entirely  away  from  the 
old  man  in  the  red  cap  sitting  there  under  the  overhang 
ing  vines, — wandered  away  from  his  story  of  boyhood  in 
Switzerland,  his  garrulous  memories  of  the  Pays  de  Van;! 
and  of  the  simple  mountain  life  so  different  from  that,  ot 
his  old  age  on  the  fertile  banks  of  this  great  river.  Mr. 
Whittaker  heard  him  not,  for  all  the  time  his  mind  went 
after  his  heart  to  the  home  of  the  shoe-maker's  daughter 
with  its  honeysuckle  and  morning-glory  vines  and  to  the 
morning-glory  herself.  At  last  the  old  man  had  reached 
some  sort  of  denouement  in  his  polyglot  tale,  he  tapped 
Whittaker's  knee  with  his  trembling  hand  and  burst  into 
an  old  man's  laugh — faint  and  far  down  in  the  throat  like 
the  gurgling  of  subterranean  waters. 

"Wat  you  dink — qne  peusez-vous,  Monsieur  ?  Ees  it 
not — ha-ha — ees  it  not — he-he — tres  drole  ? 

"  It  is  very  funny,  no  doubt, "  answered  the  other  in 
Borne  confusion.  But  at  that  moment  Mr.  Highbury  was 
ushered  to  the  porch  by  Twonnet.  After  a  few  minutes  of 
speech  with  the  old  man,  the  ruling  elder  took  the  minis 
ter's  arm  and  asked  for  an  interview  in  private,  leading 
his  companion  to  the  further  end  of  the  long  porch,  where 
the}7  sat  down  upon  a  bench. 

Mr.  Highbury  began  about  the  Methodists,  their  un- 
soundness,  their  illiterate  preachers  and  uninstructed  lay 
men,  their  reception  of  all  sorts  of  people  without  any  dis 
crimination.  Then  he  enlarged  on  the  necessity  for  build 
ing  up  a  more  intelligent  piety  and  one  s^und  in  doctrine 
and  not  running  into  wild  excitement. 

Mr.  Whittaker  assented. 

But  Mr.  Highbury  thought  that  Presbyterians  should 
not  associate  too  much  with  Methodists. 


THE  RULING   ELDER  INTERFERES.  H3 

Mr.  Whittaker  did  not  say  anything. 

Mr.  Highbury  thought  that  Mr.  Whittaker  wouli  do 
well  not  to  visit  at  Adams's  again,  because  it  would  make 
talk,  and 

But  just  at  this  critical  moment  came  Twonnet.  She 
had  already  affected  to  have  rniich  business  in  the  room 
which  opened  just  behind  the  seat  occupied  by  the  two 
gentlemen,  she  had  observed  closely  their  countenances, 
and  now  she  brought  a  tra}^  of  bright  striped  apples,  in 
sisting  in  her  most  winning  fashion  that  Mr.  Highbury 
should  accept  one.  The  ruling  elder  was  vexed  that  his 
speech  should  have  been  broken  off  just  when  he  was 
drawing  it  to  a  focus,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it.  And 
besides,  he  was  human,  and  it  was  not  in  his  man's  nature 
to  be  displeased  with  such  distinguished  hospitality  from 
so  cheery  a  brunette  as  Twonnet.  She  paused  after  the 
gentlemen  had  taken  apples  to  talk  a  minute  with  the  half 
impatient  Highbury,  shaking  her  brown  curls  with  merry 
laughter  and  chatter  about  nothing  at  all,  and  so  filling 
that  gentleman's  head  with  a  pleasant  sense  of  her  pres 
ence  that  he  found  it  hard  to  resume  his  severity  when  her 
merry  eyes  were  gone. 

He  gathered  up  his  dispersed  forces,  however,  and  pre 
pared  to  return  to  the  charge.  But  at  the  disadvantage, 
now,  that  the  enemy  had  had  time  to  put  himself  under 
arms.  Whittaker  was  slow  to  arouse,  but  while  Twonnet 
talked  he  had  been  busy  guessing  the  drift  of  the  ruling 
elder's  speech  and  in  growing  a  little  indignant. 

"I  was  saying,  Mr.Whittaker — a — that "  resumed 

Mr.  Highbury,  hesitantly. 

"That  1  ought  not  to  go  to  Mr.  Adams's  so  often," — 
put  in  the  minister,  whose  nerves  were  irritable  from  the 
excitement  to  which  he  had  been  subjected  of  late ;  "  and 


BOXY. 

I,  on  my  part,  insist  that  I  have  a  right  to  go  to  see  the 
man  if  I  iind  his  company  agreeable." 

Mr.  Highbury  was  silent  a  moment.  Who  could  have 
dreamed  that  a  minister  on  three  hundred  dollars  a  year 
would  have  the  pluck  to  speak  to  the  richest  man  in  his 
church  as  though  they  were  at  all  equals  ?  lie  would 
sooner  have  expected  his  store-boy  to  show  spirit  than 
Whittaker.  What  is  the  use  of  a  moneyed  man  in  a 
church,  if  he  is  not  to  control  the  pastor? 

"  But  perhaps  you  do  not  know,"  continued  the  elder, 
"  that  your  going  there  so  often  has  started  a  report  that 
you  are  engaged  to  E-oxy  Adams." 

Mr.  Whittaker  was  silent.  He  could  truthfully  say 
that  he  was  not  betrothed  to  Koxy.  But- he  felt  that  this 
would  be  a  cowardly  shirking  of  the  issue. 

"  Now,  of  course,  there  is  no  truth  in  this  report,"  con 
tinued  the  merchant,  in  a  tone  which  indicated  his  belief 
that  there  was  ;  "  but  think  how  much  damage  the  idea — 
the  very  idea  may  do  us.  AVhat  a  shock  it  is.  to  our  con 
gregation  to  think  of  you  marrying  a  girl  who  was  never 
taught  a  word  of  the  catechism,  who  doesn't  believe  in  the 
doctrine  of  God's  sovereignty,  and  the  election  of  grace, 
who  sings  those  wild  Methodist  songs,  and  prays  in  meet 
ing,  and  even  makes  speeches  in  love-feast  before  a 
crowded  audience.  And  then  she " 

But  just  here,  to  Mr.  Highbury's  vexation,  and  the  min 
ister's  relief,  Twonnet  came  upon  the  stage  once  more, 
entering  by  way  of  the  garden  gate,  with  a  nosegay  of 
pinks,  and  roses,  touch-me-nots,  and  Johnny-jump-ups, 
intermingled  with  asparagus  twigs,  and  some  old-man-in- 
green.  This  she  presented  to  the  disturbed  Mr.  Highbury, 
asking  pardon  for  interrupting  the  conversation  and  re 
questing  him  to  give  the  bouquet  to  Mrs.  Highbury  for  her. 


THE  RULING  ELDER  INTERFERES.  145 

She  said  that  she  wanted  to  show  Mrs.  Highbury  which 
had  the  finest  pinks.  Then,  as  she  started  away,  she  turned 
round  to  ask  Mr.  Highbury  if  he  had  heard  about  Mrs. 
Boone,  the  poor  woman  whose  husband  was  a  drunkard. 

"  Roxy  Adams,"  she  said,  with  entire  innocency — 
'Roxy  Adams  went  down  there  two  weeks  ago  and  nursed 
that  poor  creature  for  three  days,  without  leaving  her  day 
or  night,  and  without  taking  more  than  an  hour  of  sleep 
at  a  time.  I  didn't  know  anything  about  it  till  Mrs.  Boone's 
little  boy  came  up  here  and  brought  me  a  note  from  Roxy 
asking  for  a  bottle  of  wine  to  keep  the  old  woman  alive, 
for  the  fever  had  left  her  nearly  dead.  And  then  I  went 
down  to  help  Roxy,  but  the  old  creature  wouldn't  drink  a 
spoonful  of  wine  and  water  out  of  my  hand.  It  was  all 
Roxy,  Roxy ;  and  Roxy  nursed  her  as  if  she'd  been  her 
own  mother.  That's  what  you  might  call  pure  religion 
and  undefiled,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Highbury  ? " 

"Well,  yes,  if  it  came  from  faith  and  was  not  self- 
righteousness.  All  our  righteousness  is  as  filthy  rags,  you 
know.  I  have  no  right  to  judge.  Roxy  seems  to  be  a 
Christian." 

"  Doesn't  the  Bible  say  we  shall  know  them  by  their 
fruits?"  returned  Twonnet.  "For  my  part,  I  think  if 
Roxy  isn't  saved  the  rest  of  Luzerne  had  better  give  up. 
Of  course,  though,  I  believe  in  salvation  by  grace — there's 
no  other  chance  for  such  as  me." 

And  with  that  the  girl  went  away  laughing,  and  Mr. 
'Whittaker  wondered  whether  some  kind  providence  had 
sent  her  to  his  rescue,  or  whether,  after  all,  this  mercurial 
girl  had  not  a  depth  of  finesse  in  her  character.  Had  he 
lived  under  the  same  roof  with  her  so  long  without  finding 
out  that  she  was  something  more  than  a  merry  superficial 
chatterer  ? 

7 


ROXY. 

Meantime  Mr.  Highbury  now  saw  that  he  must  change 
his  tack.  He  could  not  go  on  assailing  even  the  theology 
of  Roxy  Adams  without  bringing  to  an  explosion  tha 
gathering  indignation  of  the  cool  !N"ew  England  parson, 
whose  face  had  been  growing  redder  for  some  time. 

"  Certainly,  what  she  says  about  Koxy  Adams  is  true, 
I  wish  she  was  a  Presbyterian.  Then  we  might  stand 
some  chance  of  getting  Mark  Bonamy.  Poor  fellow !  he 
is  dead  in  love  with  her.  And  I'm  afraid — you'll  excuse 
me  Mr.  Wiuttaker, — I'm  afraid  any  interference  on  your 
part  with  Mark's  prospects  there  might  drive  all  his  good 
resolutions  out  of  his  head.  But  I  must  go." 

For  just  at  that  moment  Mr.  Highbury  remembered 
with  a  pang  that  there  was  to  be  an  "  animal  show  "in 
town  that  very  day,  and  that  the  store  must  even  now  be 
full  of  country  customers.  He  hurriedb  bade  Mr.  Whit- 
taker  good-bye.  He  hardly  took  time  to  shake  hands 
ivilly  with  the  dreamy  old'  man  in  the  red  cap  at  the 
<ther  end  of  the  porch.  He  left  the  pinks  and  touch-me- 
ots  lying  on  the  bench  where  he  had  sat,  and  hastened 
through  the  hall  out  of  the  door  and  up  the  .street, 
noting,  as  he  walked,  not  the  scenery,  but  the  number  of 
wagons  standing  by  the  hitchipg-rails,  at  either  side  to  the 
court-house  square,  and  calculating  how  much  of  "  bit " 
calico  and  brown  sugar,  how  many  clocks,  and  shoes,  and 
nails,  and  clothes-lines  he  might  sell  during  the  day. 

But  the  minister  sat  still  upon  the  porch.  The  last 
arrow  of  the  retreating  assailant  had  wounded  him.  His 
life  had  been  one  of  severe  self-denial.  For  a  few  days, 
he  had  thought  that  duty  and  inclination  lay  in  the  same 
direction.  Now,  this  awful  specter  of  the  harm  he  might 
do  to  the  eternal  welfare  of  Bonamy  stood  in  his  path.  In 
his  day  men  believed  in  perdition — hell  was  a  very  real 


THE  RULING  ELDER  INTERFERES. 

and  horrible  place  of  everlasting  torture.  If,  now,  ho 
should  be  the  means  of  toppling  over  poor  Mark  Bonanvy 
into  that  abyss,  and  even  then  after  all  should  be  forgiven, 
what  an  awful  thing  it  would  be  for  him  to  think  about 
in  eternity,  that  he  had  wrought  endless  misery  to  a 
human  soul ! 

The  birds,  the  rose-bushes,  the  singing  locusts  and  all 
the  sweet  and  drowsy  music  of  a  summer  day,  and  all  the 
beauty  of  the  hills  and  the  placidity  of  the  river  seemed 
to  belong  to  another  world  now.  He  was  a  truant  school 
boy,  who  had  had  a  good  time.  But  now  he  was  brought 
back  to  take  his  flogging,  and  the  world  did  not  seem  so 
pleasant  any  more. 

Twonnet  stood  near  him  when  he  looked  up.  The  droll 
girl  had  set  her  face  into  the  very  expression  that  was 
characteristic  of  Mr.  Highbury. 

"  Don't  marry  a  Methodist,"  she  began,  mimicking  the 
ruling  elder's  tone;  "don't  marry  any  singing,. shouting, 
shoe-maker's  daughter ;  marry  my  niece,  Caroline,  now, 
she  is  good  and  quiet  and " 

The  drollery  and  mimicking  of  manner  were  perfect, 
but  they  jarred  upon  Mr.  AVhittaker's  present  state  of 
feeling.  He  was  amazed  at  this  sudden  revelation  of  the 
real  Twonnet ;  but  he  was  in  trouble,  and  he  wanted 
sympathy,  not  diversion. 

"  Oh,  Twonnet,"  he  cried,  pathetically,  reaching  out  his 
hands  in  sudden  impulse,  and  seizing  hers,  "  don't  make 
fun.  I  am  sick.  1  have  done  wrong.  Think  what  harm 
I've  done,  maybe,  to  Mr.  Bonamy." 

"  Mark  Bonamy  !  Pshaw !  "  said  Twonnet.  But  she 
went  no  further.  For  the  minister's  voice  in  appealing 
thus  to  her,  his  act  of  confidence  in  taking  her  hands  had 
touched  her  heart,  and  she  felt  again  that  old  frightful 


148  ROXT. 

pang  of  love  or  jealousy  come  back.  She  longed  to  com 
fort  the  good,  troubled  man.  Why  should  she  plead  for 
Roxy  ?  lioxy  had  everybody  to  love  her.  But  who  loved 
Twonnet  3 

The  minister  suddenly  released  her  hands,  and  went  to 
his  room.  But  all  the  drollery  was  gone  from  the  heart 
of  Twonnet.  She  opened  the  gate  through  the  fence, 
went  down  betwen  the  currant-bushes  and  hollyhocks  to 
the  further  end  of  the  garden.  There  she  sat  down  on  a 
little  stool  beneath  a  quince- tree,  and  cried.  She  who 
was  so  strong  that  she  had  undertaken  to  deliver  others 
was  weak  now.  The  voice  of  her  friend  crying  for  help 
had  made  her  helpless ;  for  she  was  a  woman.  And  much 
as  she  declared  to  herself  in  this  hour  that  she  would  never 
marry  a  sober,  hesitating,  severe  minister,  her  heart  still 
gave  the  lie  to  her  thought  as  she  saw,  in  her  memory,  his 
tearful  eyes  upturned  to  her  own,  and  heard  him  call  her 
name  so  eagerly. 

Then  she  grew  angry  and  said :  "  What  does  he  ask  me 
to  help  him  in  his  love  affairs  for  ?  I'm  sure  I  don't 
know." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A   MILLSTONE. 

THE  temptations  of  a  scrupulous  man  like  Wkitakei 
are  never  gross.     The 

"  Fierce  Anthropophagi, 
Spectre,  diaboli, 
What  scared  St.  Anthony, 
Hobgoblins,  lemures, 
Dreams  of  antipodes, 
Night -riding  incubi 
Troubling  the  fantasy," 

are  not  for  him.  But  it  is  a  most  unhappy  thing  for  a 
man  to  be  both  scrupulous  and  logical.  The  combination 
is  bad.  The  scrupulous  man,  and  especially  the  scrupu 
lous  woman,  whose  logic  is  defective,  is  saved  from  a 
thousand  snares.  On  the  other  hand  the  severely  logical 
man  who  is  not  scrupulous  escapes  easily.  This  is  how  it 
happens  that  the  harshest  creeds  do  little  harm.  One 
man  is  saved  by  his  laziness,  another  by  his  transparent 
quibbles,  while  a  third  walks  boldly  out  the  front  door, 
having  but  a  feeble  moral  sense.  Mark  Bonamy,  for  in 
stance,  would  not  have  been  troubled  by  Whit  taker's 
doubts.  His  easy-going  egotism,  his  calm  confidence  that 
his  own  purposes  and  welfare  were  of  the  first  importance, 
would  have  furnished  a  premise  from  which  to  draw  any 
convenient  conclusion.  But  poor  Whittaker  was  ground 
between  his  clear  logic  on  the  one  hand,  and  his  severe 


150  BOXY. 

scruples  on  the  other.  He  had  an  instinctive  doubt  oi 
the  security  of  Mark's  religions  life,  lie  did  not  question 
the  doctrine  of  final  pei  severance,  but  then  he  could  not 
be  sure  of  the  genuineness  of  a  'conversion.  What  if  he 
should  offend  one  of  these  little  ones  ?  It  were  better  that 
a  millstone  were  hanged,  about  his  neck. 

O 

He  did  not  dare  go  back  to  that  forbidden  logic  which 
absolves  itself  from  obligation  by  pushing  on  toward 
fatalism.  He  shuddered  at  An tinomianism,  for  that  is  the 
extinction  of  conscience.  It  was  at  this  point  that  the 
intuitions  of  an  honest  nature  put  a  stop  to  logic. 

In  a  state  of  mind  such  as  his,  there  is  one  thing  stronger 
than  reasoning.  It  is  the  persistence  of  ideas.  Once 
mastered  by  the  notion  that  in  wedding  Roxy  he  would 
be  offending  against  one  of  those  who  were  jet  but  babes 
in  Christ :  he  could  not  shake  it  off.  The  awful  words 
"  millstone  about  his  neck,"  re-echoed  in  his  mind. 

He  tried  to  write  a  letter  withdrawing  his  offer.  He 

began :  "  My  dear  Roxy "  but  decided  that  that  was 

too  cordial.  Then  he  wrote  "  Dear  friend "  but  that 

would  not  do.  "  Miss  Adams  "  was  too  cold.  At  last 
after  tearing  up  several  sheets  of  paper  he  resolved  not  to 
write  at  all.  Good  sense,  which  is  not  exactly  either  con 
science  or  logic,  but  both  with  something  added,  began  to 
revive.  Yfhy  jiot  go  to  Roxy  without  waiting  for  the  week 
to  expire  and  learn  from  her  what  was  the  exact  state  of 
the  ca&*e  ?  It  was  nonsense  to  decide  such  a  question  for 
her  Besides,  the  half  threat  of  Highbury  made  it  ^uile 
necessary  that  he  should  assert  his  right  to  do  as  Iio 
thought  best. 

When  he  set  out  to  go  to  see  Roxy,  the  town  was  full 
of  people  come  to  see  the  "  animal  show  "  The  whole 
stagnant  life  of  the  country  about  was  sirred  by  the 


A  M2LLSTON&  151 

arrival  of  a  spectacle.  Here  were  women  standing  by  the 
hour  with  babies  in  their  arms,  waiting  to  see  the  outside 
of  the  box  wagons  as  they  passed  along  the  streets.  Horses 
were  neighing  to  other  horses  all  about  the  open  square 
in  the  middle  of  the  town,  and  groups  of  people  formed 
and  dissolved  and  re-formed  again  like  molecules  in  effer 
vescence,  while  everywhere,  girls  in  new  calico  and  lawn, 
and  boys  in  cotton  drilling,  hurried  to  and  fro. 

When  Whittaker  neared  Eoxy's  house  he  began  to 
doubt  again  whether  he  was  acting  wisely  or  not.  So  he 
walked  on  further  till  he  came  to  a  gate  leading  into  a 
pasture.  Through  this  into  a  grass-bordered  path,  along 
the  path  up  to  the  foot  of  the  hill,  he  traveled  mechanically ; 
then  up  the  rocky  hill-side,  through  the  patches  of  papaw, 
he  went  clambering  over  a  stone  wall  into  a  vineyard,  and 
over  another  into  a  road  on  top  of  the  ridge.  From  the 
summit  he  saw  the  whole  village  at  his  feet,  the  river,  the 
distant  hills,  and  all  the  glorious  landscape.  He  saw  as 
in  a  dream,  for  he  cared  neither  for  river  nor  sky,  hill- 
slope  nor  town.  He  stopped  a  moment  to  single  out  the 
log  house  in  which  lived  the  shoe-maker's  daughter.  Then 
he  strode  eagerly  onward,  at  first  along  the  open  road, 
afterward  turning  whimsically  into  a  disused  wagon-track, 
almost  overgrown  now  with  bright  May-apple  plants. 
Out  of  this  he  turned  into  a  blind  cow-path  leading  into 
a  dark  ravine  or  u  hollow."  Down  this  he  followed  in  the 
rocky  bed  of  a  dry  "  branch,"  in  the  shadow  of  beech  and 
butternut  trees,  and  those  noble  tulip-trees  which  they 
class  with  poplars  in  Indiana, — until  at  last  he  came  sud- 
deiuy  out  upon  the  bank  of  Indian  Creek.  He  had  walked 
two  rough  and  rocky  miles.  He  had  meant  to  think  when 
he  started,  but  he  had  not  thought  at  all.  He  had  only  a 
sense  of  having  left  the  noisy  little  town  behind  him,  and 


152  ROXT. 

of  having  marched  straight  forward  to  the  month  of  thig 
dark  ho'low.  He  had  not  been  able  to  walk  away  from 
his  perplexities.  He  stood  ancl  looked  at  the  woods ;  he 
idly  traced  the  gigantic  grape-vines  up  to  where  they  were 
interlaced  in  the  tree-boughs,  a  hundred  feet  or  so  from 
the  ground ;  he  stared  vacantly  at  the  stagnant  creek,  the 
sluggish  current  of  which  seemed  to  be  drying  up  in  the 
summer  heat,  spite  of  the  protection  of  the  dense  forest. 
A  solitary  ugly,  short-tailed,  long-legged  bittern  flapped 
awkwardly  past  with  discordant  screams,  and  a  few  hoarse 
bull-frogs  croaked  in  the  margin  of  the  water.  Whittaker, 
heated  and  tired,  with  all  his  fiery  eagerness  spent,  sat 
down  on  a  moss-grown  log,  and  thought  again  what  an 
awful  thing  it  was  to  have  a  millstone  hanged  about  one's 
neck.  Then,  from  the  mere  religious  habit  of  his  life,  he 
knelt  on  the  bed  of  leaves.  But  he  did  not  pray  ;  he  only 
lay  across  the  log  and  listened  to  the  beating  of  his  heart, 
and  recalled  images  of  Roxy  with  her  background  of  the 
quaint  old  house  and  its  homely  interior. 

After  a  long  time  he  started  slowly  and  wearily  back 
toward  Luzerne. 

Meantime  the  "animal  show"  at  the  appointed  time  "  took 
up,"  as  the  country  people  expressed  it.  It  was  a  poor 
enough  show.  The  few  beasts  looked  very  tame  and 
dispirited,  but  then  the  visitors  paused  for  only  a  brief 
interview  with  the  scrawny  lion,  that  bore  but  a  weak  re 
semblance  to  his  own  portrait  on  the  show-bills  as  the 
"king  of  beasts;"  they  did  not  waste  much  time  on  the 
email  '"iger,  from  "  the  jungles  of  India."  After  giving  a 
cracker  or  two  to  the  elephant,  they  assembled  in  a  great 
crowd  in  front  of  the  cage  of  grinning,  chattering,  scratch 
ing  monkeys.  lu  that  steady-going  age,  people  were  not 
conscious  that  there  might  be  aught  of  family  affection  in 


A  MILLSTONE.  153 

this  attraction.  Monkeys  then  were  monkeys  p\ire  and 
simple;  one  could  look  at  them  as  one  looks  at  caricatures 
of  nobody  in^particular ;  one  might  laugh  at  them  without 
a  sense  of  gamboling  rudely  over  the  graves  of  his  an 
cestors. 

Near  this  cage  stood  Twonnet,  another  girl  now  from 
the  Twonnet  of  the  morning,  laughing  in  her  free,  childish 
way  at  the  pranks  of  the  monkeys.  She  had  all  the 
children  with  her — Cecille,  Isabelle,  Adolphe,  Louis  and 
little  Julie,  whom  they  called  "  Teet,"  a  foreshortening 
of  Petite.  A  little  monkey  had  just  pulled  the  tail  of  the 
big  baboon  in  the  next  cage,  to  the  great  delight  of  the 
children,  when  who  should  come  along  but  Jemima. 
Squaring  herself  off  where  fche  could  see,  she  declared  that 
"  them  air  monkeys  was  a  kind  of  people.  Only  needed 
a  little  dressin'  up  and  you'd  have  human  critters.  An' 
they  wouldn't  be  no  bigger  fools  than  most  folks.  TheyY 
do  for  to  run  for  the  legislator,  Mr.  Bonamy." 

This  last  to  Mark,  who  made  his  appearance  at  this 
moment  in  company  with  Roxy. 

"  Can't  talk  well  enough  for  that,"  he  answered. 

"  Why  !  "  said  Twonnet,  always  ready  for  attack  when 
Mark  was  at  hand.  "  I  didn't  suppose  you  Methodists 
would  attend  such  a  place.  Didn't  they  church  Wayne 
Thomas  for  going  to  a  circus  last  year  ?" 

"Yes,  but  that  was  a  circus,"  said  Hoxy.  "This  kind 
of  a  show  has  nothing  wrong  it.  It  gives  a  body  infor 
mation.  I'm  sure  it's  better  than  reading  Goldsmith's 
'  Animated  Nature/  r 

"It's  right  improvin',  I'm  shore,"  said  Jemima,  with 
droJ  mock  gravity.  u  Shouldn't  think  they'd  be  any  use 
o'  your  goin'  to  Texas,  now.  Mr.  Bonainy,,"  • 

"  Why  ? " 

7* 


154  EOXT. 

"  Oh,  the  people  must  be  so  much  c  improved  '  by  cata 
mounts  and  other  varmint  that  they  can  see  any  day  with 
out   pay  that   missionaries '  ain't   needed.    l3ut   I   s'pose 
animals — bars  an'  rattle-snakes  and  sich — haint  improvin' 
to  the  mind  tell  they're  put  in  cages." 

"  But,"  said  Roxy,  timidly,  like  a  person  caught  doing 
something  wrong,  "it  isn't  any  harm  to  look  at  these 
creatures.  They  are  God's  works,  you  know." 

"Yes,  but  some  of  God's  works  haint  cale'lated  to  be 
admired  while  they're  runnin'  'round  loose.  If  Mark — - 
Mr.  Bonamy  here — finds  a  nasty,  p'ison  copperhead  snake 
under  his  piller  some  night,  I  don't  'low  but  what  he'll  up 
with  a  stick  and  give  him  a  right  hard  knock  on  the  head 
smashin'  God's  works  all  to  pieces." 

"That  I  will,  Jemima,  kill  him  first  and  admire  him 
afterward,"  said  Mark,  laughing  in  his  hearty,  unreserved 
fashion. 

Slowly  the  people  dispersed  after  watching  the  under 
fed  tiger  devour  a  very  tough  piece  of  meat,  and  hearing 
the  lion  roar  in  fierce  discontent  over  a  bone  that  gave  him 
little  promise  of  a  good  supper.  Mark  and  Roxy  as  they 
walked  homeward  together  did  not  meditate  much  on 
God's  works  which  they  had  seen.  They  had,  also,  the 
misfortune  to  meet  Mr.  Whittaker  returning,  hungry  and 
fagged,  from  his  long  tramp  in  the  woods,  and  disap 
pointed  at  having  knocked  in  vain  at  the  door  of-  Iloxy's 
house.  A  sudden  pain  smote  the  girl's  heart.  Had  he 
been  to  see  her  ?  She  remembered  now  what  sordid 
arguments  her  aunt  had  used  in  favor  of  Mark,  and 
she  could  hardly  resist  a  feeling  that  she  was  betray 
ing  Whittaker  and  giving  herself  to  Mark  on  account 
of  Mark's  worldly  advantages.  Indeed,  this  very  re 
bellion  against  the  aunt's  advice  had  almost  induced  hei 


A  MILLSTONE.  155 

to  decline  Mark's  invitation  to  go  to  the  show.  And  then 
she  remembered  that  the  time  for  her  reply  to  Whittaker 
was  but  two  days  off,  and  how  could  she  maintain  a  judi 
cial  frame  of  mind  if  she  kept  Mark's  company.  But  he 
had  pleaded  that  he  needed  some  recreation,  there  was  not 
1  much  that  was  pleasant  left  for  him.  And  Koxy's  heart 
had  seconded  its  pleading,  for  the  more  she  talked  with 
him  of  his  plans,  and  pitied  him  in  his  prospective  trials, 
so  much  the  more  she  loved  him.  She  was  a  romancer, 
like  all  girls  of  her  age,  only  her  romances  had  a  religious 
coloring.  If  she  could  have  felt  a  hearty  pity  for  Whit- 
taker,  or  painted  pictures  of  possible  self-immolations  for 
him,  she  might  have  loved  him.  But  he  had  never  said  a 
word  about  any  sacrifices  that  he  had  made.  Is  it  any 
Bonder  that  the  impulsive,  romantic,  self-pitying  Mark 
should  have  made  the  deepest  impression  ?  Was  there  not 
also  a  latent  feeling  that  Bonamy  needed  her  influence  ? 
For  all  strong  women  like  to  feel  that  they  are  necessary 
to  somebody,  and  your  pitiful  and  philanthropic  woman 
wants  somebody  to  be  sorry  for. 

Nevertheless,  at  sight  of  the  fagged  and  anxious  face  oi 
the  young  minister,  she  was  smitten  with  pain,  and  she 
lapsed  into  a  melancholy  from  which  Mark  could  not 
arouse  her.  Once  or  twice  she  answered  him  with  just  a 
spice  of  contradictoriness.  Mark  had  meant  to  open  his 
whole  heart  to  her  that  very  afternoon.  Now  he  thought 
that  he  had  in  some  way  offended.  He  bade  her  good-bye 
at  the  gate,  and  walked  slowly  homeward  through  the  long 
shadows  of  the  evening,  trying  to  guess  what  he  had  done 
to  give  offense.  If  Roxy  could  have  decided  the  debate 
in  hor  heart  as  most  girls  would  have  done,  according  to 
her  inclination,  there  would  have  been  no  more  halting. 
But  the  vision  of  Whittaker's  troubled  face  made  her  hesi 


ROXY. 

tate,  and  then  the  scrupulous  habit  of  her  mind  made 
^everything  that  was  pleasant  seem  to  be  wrong.  Because 
jshe  loved  Mark  she  feared  that  she  ought  not  to  have  him. 
lift  imitation  of  the  early  Methodist  saints  she  sought  to 
./decide  this  matter,  not  by  using  her  judgment,  but  by 
j  waiting  for  some  supernatural  impulse  or  some  outward 

token. 

"  Choose  my  way  for  me,  O  Lord  1 "  she  wrote  in  her 

diary  that  evening. 

And  yet  with  all  her  praying  she  was  in  a  fair  way  to 

make  her  own  choice.      There  is  nothing  so  blind  as  love, 

there  is  nothing  so  given  to  seeing.     It  will  get  even  from 

heaven  the  vision  it  seeks. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

A    SUMMER    STOKM. 

MR.  WHITTAKER  was  tired,  dispirited,  and  dinner-less, 
and  where  one  is  fagged,  hungry,  and  depressed,  the  worst 
seems  most  probable.  To  him  it  was  clear  that  Bor:..uy 
and  Roxy  were  as  good  as  engaged.  He  was  almost  glad 
that  he  had  not  found  Roxy  at  home  when  he  called  on 
his  return  from  the  woods.  What  Bonarny  could  want 
with  a  wife,  or  how  he  could  support  one,  in  his  wild 
journey  to  Texas,  Whittaker  could  not  imagine.  But  then 
the  whole  proceeding  of  dispatching  an  impulsive  young 
lawyer  without  theological  training,  on  a  mission,  waa 
ridiculous  enough  to  the  well-regulated  mind  of  a  New 

Eno-lander.     In  New  England  he  had  looked  to  Indiana 

&  ~ 

as  the  fag-end  of  Heathendom  itself,  but  here  the  Indiana 
people  were  sending  a  missionary  into  the  outer  darkness 
beyond.  For  himself,  he  was,  as  yet,  by  no  means  sure 
of  Bonarny's  conversion.  But  the  question  of  the  harm 
he  might  do  to  Bonamy  was  not  the  only  one  that  touched 
him  now.  Partly  from  scruple,  partly  from  discourage 
ment,  partly  on  account  of  a  wounded  pride,  and  partly 
from  a  sense  of  injury,  he  determined  to  settle  the  matter 
once  for  all.  To  a  man  accustomed  to  act  with  simplicity 
and  directness,  any  hesitation,  any  complexity  and  en 
tanglement  of  motives,  is  purgatory.  And  a  bewildered 
and  badgered  human  scul  will  sometimes  accept  the  most 
desperate  alternative  for  the  sake  of  escaping  from  per- 


158  EOXT. 

plexity.  Misery,  simple  and  absolute,  is  sometimes  bettei 
than  compound  suspense. 

The  tavern  bell  was  already  ringing  its  vesper  when 
Whittaker  pushed  open  the  white  gate  and  walked  up  the 
graveled  walk  in  front  of  the  Lefaure  cottage.  He  ate 
his  supper  in  a  voracious  and  almost  surly  silence.  When 
Lefaure  remarked  that  the  heat  was  oppressive  and  that 
there  were  signs  of  a  thunder-storm,  Whittaker  roused  him 
self  only  at  the  close  of  the  sentence  which  he  dimly 
perceived  was  addressed  to  himself. 

"What  say  ? "  he  asked,  using  a  down-east  cut-off  in  his 
speech  that  seemed  almost  offensive  to  his  friend.  The 
host  repeated  his  remark  about  the  weather  and  Whittaker, 
whose  attention  had  already  lapsed,  again  revived  himself 
sufficiently  to  answer  that  he  believed  he  was  and  went 
on  eating. 

The  letter  he  wrote  in  that  sultry  evening  was  a  simple 
and  unexplained  withdrawal  of  his  offer  of  marriage. 
Whittaker  sealed  it  and  went  out.  The  twilight  sky  was 
already  stained  with  a  black  cloud  sweeping  upward  from 
the  west;  little  puffs  of  dust  rose  here  and  there  in  fitful 
eddies  as  the  sultry  air  anticipated  the  coming  gust  with 
nervous  twitchings.  But  the  young  minister  cared  for  no 
cloud  but  the  one  in  his  own  heart.  He  hurried  on 
through  the  deepening  gloom  past  one  or  two  of  the  old 
SwTiss  houses,  under  the  shadow  of  a  great  barn-like  brick 
dwelling  popularly  called  the  White  Hall,  which  had  been 
built  by  an  overgrown  merchant  who  had  since  failed. 
Then  he  mechanically  crossed  the  open  lots  into  the  main 
Btreet  and  did  not  pause  until  he  had  dropped  the  letter  in 
the  box.  He  had  hardly  turned  toward  home  when  there 
came  a  sudden  clap  of  thunder.  The  wind  and  rain  struck 
the  village  almost  at  once  ;  the  twilight  was  gone  in  an  in 


A  SUMMED  STORM.  159 

stant ;  and  it  was  with  no  little  pains  and  stumbling  that 
Whittaker  at  last  found  his  way  back  through  the  drench 
ing  storm  to  his  own  room.  The  wild  irregular  dashing  of 
the  wind  against  the  window,  the  roaring  of  the  summei 
rain  upon  the  roof,  and  the  gurgling  rush  of  the  water  in 
the  tin  leaders  made  a  strange  and  stormy  harmony  with  the 
minister's  perturbed  emotions.  The  tired  man  at  last  slept 
soundly.  When  he  awoke  in  the  gray  dawn  the  tempest 
Lad  spent  itself.  There  were  traces  of  the  wind  in  broken 
branches  of  trees  here  and  there,  the  roads  were  submerged 
by  pools  of  water  and  the  gutters  and  gullies  were  choke  full. 
But  the  air  was  clear  and  fresh  and  Whittaker  threw  open 
his  window  and  watched  the  first  beams  of  the  sun  as  they 
turned  the  gray  clouds  to  orange  and  yellow  and  blazed 
upon  the  river's  ripples  in  a  line  of  gold. 

"  It  is  a  pleasant  morning,"  he  said  .to  Twonnet,  when 
she  appeared  in  the  yard  below  drawing  water  from  the 
cistern  with  the  old-fashioned  hook.  "  The  storm  haa 
cleared  the  air." 

Something  in  his  own  words  did  him  good,  for  indeed 
the  storm  had  cleared  the  air.  Through  the  dull,  linger 
ing  pain  which  he  felt,  there  came  a  grateful  sense  of  re 
lief  and  just  a  hope  of  final  victory.  He  was  thankful. 
For  once  he  neglected  to  "  say  his  prayers."  One  never 
needs  the  form  of  devotion  so  little  as  when  the  spirit  is 
spontaneously  devout. 

Nevertheless,  there  was  for  many  a  month  a  vague  sense 
of  suffering  throughout  his  whole  being,  that  depression 
about  the  rerve-centers  which  may  come  from  any  disap 
pointment,  but  which  is  more  aggravated  in  its  form  and 
persistency  when  the  disappointment  has  to  do  with  the 
affections.  Friends  of  the  sufferer  declare  the  pain  a  most 
unreasonable  one.  Isn't  every  disease  unreasonable  ? 


160  ROXY. 

One  would  as  well  argue  against  dyspepsia.  Of  what  good 
is  it  to  assure  a  disappointed  lover  that  there  are  as  many 
fish  in  the  sea  as  ever  were  caught?  Loving  differs  from 
fishing  precisely  in  this,  that  in  love  the  sea  has  but  the 
one  fish ;  the  rest  are  all  contemptible. 

For  weeks  Whittaker's  sermons  were  prepared  in  a  duU 
way,  and  preached  listlessly.  He  even  lost  interest  in  the 
raging  battle  between  the  old  school  and  the  new,  and 
fc/r  a  while  he  cared  little  for  the  difference  between  par 
tial  atonement  and  universal.  His  few  theological  books 
were  untouched.  One  symptom  of  his  disease  was  a  dis 
position  to  quarrel  with  Highbury.  He  took  grounds  in 
opposition  to  the  elder's  well-known  opinions  at  every 
opportunity,  saying  exasperating  things  on  such  slight  occa 
sions,  and  resenting  so  sharply  every  attempt  of  the  elder 
to  advise  him  about  anything  that  Highbury  seriously 
debated  whether  he  should  not  move  for  the  minister's 
dismissal.  There  was  one  obstacle,  however;  that  was 
the  Home  Missionary  Society.  It  might  withdraw  its  assis 
tance  in  case  of  difficulty.  Bat  Whittaker  did  not  think 
of  the  Home  Missionary  Society,  or  anything  else  that 
could  shield  him  from  the  elder's  wrath.  He  rather 
craved  a  controversy  than  shirked  it.  lie  even  read  and 
expounded  those  offensive  sayings  of  Christ  about  the 
difficulty  of  entrance  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven  which  a 
rich  camel  laden  with  many  costly  burdens  is  sure  to 
encounter. 


CHAPTER  XXIL 

KOXY'S  DECISION. 

WIIITTAKER'S  letter  did  not  reach  Roxy.  Letters  with 
out  direction  cannot  find  their  destination.  In  his  pro 
found  agitation  Whittaker  had  forgotten  to  direct  it  and 
it  went  wandering  away  to  the  stupid  old  dead-letter  office 
of  that  day,  where,  in  a  pile  of  miscarried  love-letters, 
business  notes,  idle  epistles  and  family  bulletins,  it  was 
solemnly  burned.  Boxy  never  knew  why  Whittaker  did 
not  come  to  hear  her  yes  or  no,  but  she  was  glad  that  he 
did  not. 

She  had  to  make  her  decision  in  her  own  way.  Which 
was  to  fancy  that  the  decision  was  made  for  her.  When 
she  prayed  the  image  of  Mark  Bonamy  stood  before  her. 
Was  not  Miss  Bosanquet  of  blessed  memory  guided  in  the 
same  way  to  the  choice  of  the  saintly  Fletcher  of  Madeley  \ 
At  other  times  texts  of  scripture  were  strongly  "  suggested  " 
to  her  mind.  The  answer  of  Ruth  to  Xaomi,  the  passage 
about  giving  up  houses  and  lands  and  father  and  mother, 
and  the  vocation  of  Paul — "  Behold  I  will  send  thee  far 
hence  unto  the  Gentiles  " — all  came  to  her  mind  at  times 
when  she  could  not  track  the  association  which  brought 
them.  Clearly  they  were  suggestions.  Why  should  she 
be  disobedient  to  the  heavenly  voice  ? 

Mark  came  to  see  her  on  the  next  evening  but  one  af!ei 
the  day  of  the  menagerie.  He  found  her  teaching  Bobo, 


162  ROXY. 

She  liad  read  somewhere  or  heard  of  the  experiments 
then  beginning  to  be  made  on  the  continent  of  Europe  in 
the  education  of  the  feeble-minded.  She  had  persuaded 
her  father  to  make  her  a  board  with  a  triangular  hole,  a 
round  hole  and  a  square  one.  She  had  also  three  blocks 
made  to  fit  the  three  holes.  When  Mark  came  in  she  was 
teaching  the  boy  to  set  the  blocks  in  their  places  and  to 
know  them  by  her  descriptions.  He  was  so  pleased  witb 
his  success  in  getting  the  three-cornered  block  into  its 
place,  that  he  was  clapping  his  hands  with  delight  when 
Mark  entered.  Bonamy  had  that  sort  of  aversion  to  an 
invalid  or  an  imbecile  which  inheres  in  some  healthy 
constitutions.  He  therefore  exaggerated  the  self-denial 
of  Roxy  in  teaching  her  cousin. 

She  blushed  a  little  when  Mark  came, — she  could  not 
have  told  why, — and  begged  that  he  would  let  her  finish 
her  lesson. 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  he  answered. 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  cried  Bobo  as  he  lifted  up  and 
replaced  the  triangular  block  in  the  aperture. 

"Now  the  square  one,"  said  Roxy. 

"  Now  the  square  one,"  responded  the  boy,  at  the  same 
time  laying  hold  of  the  circular  block. 

"  No,"  said  Roxy. 

uNo,"  answered  the  pupil  putting  down  the  block  and 
taking  the  ether. 

"  That's  the  square  one." 

"  That's  the  square  one,"  he  cried,  trying  to  force  it 
into  the  round  hole. 

"  No,  no !  the  square  hole !  " 

"  No,  no !  the  square  hole  !  "  And  then  he  looked  at 
Roxy  vacantly.  At  last,  catching  her  meaning,  he  clapped 
the  square  block  on  the  square  hole.  But  Roxy  had  to 


SOXJ'8  DECISION.  '  1C3 

take  hold  of  his  hand  and  turn  it  round  until  the  block  fitted 
to  its  place. 

"  Hurra !  that's  it ! "  cried  the  teacher,  clapping  her 
hands  in  great  glee — a  demonstration  that  was  quickly 
imitated  by  the  triumphant  pupil. 

"  How  slowly  he  must  learn,"  said  Mark.  "  It  will 
take  you  a  week  ip  teach  him  to  place  those  blocks." 

"  I've  been  at  it  a  week  already.  It  will  take  at  least 
a  month.  You  see  the  first  steps  are  the  hardest.  When 
he  has  learned  this  lesson  I  shall  have  a  lot  of  blocks,  all 
one  shape  but  of  different  colors.  The  rims  of  the  holes 
will  be  colored  to  match.  When  he  has  learned  those,  I 
shall  have  both  shapes  and  colors  various.  I  was  afraid  1 
could  mot  teach  him  at  all,  but  he  has  already  learned  to 
know  the  round  block.  See!" 

With  this  Hoxy  took  all  the  blocks  out  and  put  them 
together. 

"  Now,  Bobo,  the  round  one." 

"  Now,  Bobo,  the  round  one,"  echoed  the  lad,  squeezing 
the  fingers  of  his  right  hand  with  his  left,  and  rocking  to 
and  fro  in  indecision,  and  knitting  his  brows  with  mental 

./  CD 

effort.  At  last  he  reached  out,  timidly  lifted  the  square 
block,  then  timidly  took  up  the  round  one,  looked  up  to 
make  sure  that  Roxy  approved,  then,  after  hovering  a  while 
over  the  three  holes,  he  clapped  it  into  the  right  one,  re 
ceiving  a  burst  of  applause  and  a  kiss  from  his  teacher  af- 
a  reward. 

"  How  tedious  it  must  be ! "  said  Mark,  amazed  ai 
Roxy's  patience. 

"  Tedious  ?     No.    I  shall  make  a  man  out  of  Bobo  yet/' 
"  Make  a  man  out  of  Bobo  yet,"  chuckled  the  little 
fellow,  lifting  the  blocks  and  striving  to  n't  them  in  theii 
holes. 


164  ROXY. 

"  I  wish  yon  were  not  quite  so  good,"  said  Mark,  in  a 
sudden  fit  of  humility. 

Roxy  did  not  answer.  She  had  a  desire  to  protest 
against  the  compliment,  but  the  shadow  of  what  Mark 
was  about  to  say  fell  upon  her,  and  she  was  silent.  Bobo 
looked  up  in  wonder  and  curiosity  at  her  blushing  face, 
then  he  went  up  and  caressed  her,  saying,  "  Poor  Roxy 
mus'n't  cry." 

Roxy  pushed  him  away  gently,  and  Bobo  wandered  into 
the  yard  leaving  Roxy  and  her  lover  alone. 

"  If  you  were  not  so  good  I  might  hope  to  come  back 
some  day  when  Texas  gets  to  be  a  little  better,  maybe,  and 
take  you  out  to  help  me.  God  knows  I  need  help.  I 
don't  feel  very  sure  of  myself  without  you  to  strengthen 
me." 

It  was  the  same  old  cry  for  help.  And  all  the  more 
eloquent  that  it  was  utterly  sincere.  Was  it  that  in  this 
moment  some  doubt  of  Mark's  stability  crossed  the  soul  of 
Roxy  that  she  rose  and  walked  to  the  little  book-shelf  and 
affected  to  arrange  the  few  books  that  she  might  gain 
hime?  But  the  cry  for  help  opened  all  the  fountains  of. 
Jner  love.  Whether  Mark  was  as  good  as  she  believed  him 
;  to  be  or  as  unsteady  as  Twonnet  thought  him,  she  loved  him 
•  with  all  her  woman's  soul.  Be  he  good  or  bad,  she  felt 
now  for  the  first  time  that  she  was  his  ;  that  some  force 
beside  her  will  or  judgment  had  decided  for  her.  It  was 
but  a  feeble  effort  she  could  make  in  favor  of  calmness  or 
thought.  She  returned  to  her  chair  trembling  and  help 
less. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Roxy  ?  "  Mark  was  standing  wait 
ing.  For  a  minute  not  a  word  passed.  Roxy  knew  that 
she  was  floating  on  a  stream  against  which  all  rowing  was 
futile.  A  new  and  hitherto' unsuspected  force  in  her  ov. 


ROXY'S  DECISION.  ..          105 


nature  was  bearing  her  away.  Neither  praying  nor  strug 
gling  availed.  He  already  possessed  her,  but  she  could  not 
tell  him  so.  She  did  not  debate  any  longer,  she  only 
floated  in  a  dreamy,  blissful  state,  waiting  for  him  to 
understand  what  she  dared  not  confess.  At  last  he  reached 
his  hand  and  lifted  hers  which  lay  upon  the  arm  of  her 
chair.  She  had  no  sense  of  volition,  but,  as  though  his 
touch  had  given  her  a  galvanic  shock,  she  closed  her  hand 
on  his  and  Mark  understood. 

Much  depends  on  the  stand-point  from  which  a  subject 
is  viewed.  Go  and  ask  Colonel  Bonamy,  as^he  sits  medi 
tatively  at  his  desk,  his  long  gray  locks  gently  fluttering 
in  the  summer  wind.  He  will  tell  you  that  Mark  is  rather 
throwing  himself  away  on  a  shoe-maker's  daughter,  and 
that  the  time  may  come  when  he  will  be  sorry  for  it 
Even  the  Christian  virtues  do  not  weigh  in  all  scales  alike 


CKAPTEE  XXIIL 


BONAMY,    SENIOK. 


BONAMY  the  e.der  walked  up  and  down  his  office  floor. 
It  was  a  week  after  Mark's  betrothal,  and  a  hot,  still, 
summer  day,  disturbed  by  nothing  ;  for  the  drowsy  sound 
of  the  distant  hammering  of  the  village  smith  could  not  be 
said  to  disturb  anything.  The  elder  Bonamy  was  a  broad- 
shouldered,  raw-boned  man.  His  heavy  chin  was  close- 
shaven,  there  was  an  under  lip  that  indicated  stubbornness, 
and  a  certain  droop  of  the  eyelids  over  his  black  eyes  and 
a  close-shutness  of  the  mouth  that  stood  for  a  secreti-ve- 
ness  which  knew  by-ways  to  an  end  where  highways  were 
obstructed.  But  over  the  firmness  and  the  shrewdness  of 
his  character  a  mantle  was  thrown  by  his  innate  dignity. 
He  was  one  of  those  who  treat  themselves  with  sincere 
reverence.  Xow  and  then  he  stopped  in  his  solitary 
pacing  to  and  fro  to  look  out  of  the  open  window  of  the 
office  at  the  brass  ball  on  the  top  of  the  court-house.  But 
either  because  the  brass  ball,  blazing  in  the  summer's  sun, 
did  not  give  him  the  inspiration  he  sought,  .or  for  some 
other  good  and  sufficient  reason,  he  always  uttered  be 
tween  his  teeth,  as  he  turned  away  from  the  window,  an 
ejaculation  which  is  in  the  English  tongue  accounted  pro 
fane,  and  forbidden  to  be  put  down  in  books.  The  object 
of  the  colonel's  cursing  was  an  impersonal  "  it."  What 
the  "  it "  was  which  lie  wished  to  have  put  under  male 
diction,  an  eavesdropper  could  not  have  guessed. 


BONAMY,  SENIOR.  167  ' 

Colonel  Bonamy  was  not  an  eloquent  lawyer.  It  was 
not  from  him  that  Mark  inherited  his  outspoken  vehe 
mence.  Secretive  men  are  good  diplomatists,  but  a 
diplomatist  is  not  often  an  orator  He  loved  the  struggle 
of  litigation  as  he  loved  a  game  of  poker.  He  fought 
now  in  this  way,  now  in  that  way,  now  by  sudden  ami 
abrupt  attack,  and  again  by  ambuscade,  sometimes  by  coo1 
and  lofty  assurance,  sometimes  by  respectful  considerate 
ness,  but  by  this  or  that  he  managed  to  win  whenever 
success  was  within  reach  without  compromise  of  his  ex 
terior  dignity,  which  dignity  was  with  him  a  make-shift 
for  conscience.  He  studied  the  juries,  their  prejudices  of 
politics  or  religion  and  their  susceptibilities.  He  took 
them  almost  one  by  one,  awing  some,  flattering  others, 
reasoning  with  others.  He  was  never  brilliant,  but  he 
won  his  suits ;  defeat  was  the  only  thing  in  heaven  or 
earth  that  he  dreaded. 

Those  who  knew  his  habits  would  have  said  that  in  the 
present  instance  he  had  a  case  in  which  he  could  not 
quite  see  his  way  to  success.  »This  striding  up  and  down 
the  floor,  this  staring  with  half -shut  eyes  at  the  ball  on  the 
belfry,  this  short,  abrupt,  half -smothered  and  rather  nil- 
charitable  damning  of  the  neuter  pronoun,  betokened  a 
difficult  case.  But  there  were  certainly  no  cases  to  per 
plex  him  until  the  "  fall  "  term  of  the  circuit  court  should 
come  round.  Neither  had  he  been  overthrown  in  his  tilt 
at  poker  the  night  before.  None  the  less  was  he  wrestling 
with  a  hard  problem.  He  had  tried  to  "  bluff "  Mark  and 
had  failed.  But  all  the  more  was  he  resolved  to  find  some 
way  to  accomplish  his  purpose.  Hence  this  striding  to 
and  fro,  diagonally  across  the  office.  For  do  not  the  legs 
pump  blood  into  the  brain  ?  And  hence,  too,  this  staring 
at  the  brass  ball,  and  this  swearing  at  some  undefined  "  it-" 

*  O 


168  JKOXY. 

The  colonel  had  just  uttered  his  little  curse  1  iu> 
dozenth  time,  when  the  lank  Lathers  darkened,  in  a  per 
pendicular  way,  the  threshold  of  the  open  door.  Some 
business  about  a  subpoena  was  the  occasion  for  his  call. 
The  aristocratic  lawyer  and  the  rude  Lathers  were  a  fine 
contrast  of  the  patrician  and  the  plebeian  in  manner 
and  appearance.  When  Lathers  had  finished  his  errand, 
and  stood  again  in  the  open  door  about  to  depart,  he 
said : 

"  Mark,  don't  come  home  early  these  nights,  I  'low, 
Colonel." 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  the  diplomatic  lawyer. 

"  Seems  to  me,  Colonel, — but  then  'taint  none  of  my 
business,"  and  the  sheriff  passed  out  into  the  hot  sun 
shine. 

"  Come  back,  Lathers,"  said  Bonamy,  adding  to  the  in 
vitation  his  half-smothered  oath,  fired  in  the  air  at  nobody 
in  particular. 

"  What  the  dickens  do  you  mean  ?  Has  Mark  been 
doing  anything  worse  than  going  to  those  confounded 
Methodist  meetings  '\ "  And  the  colonel  took  a  turn 
toward  the  window,  and  another  pull  at  the  economical 
and  non-committal  little  curse.  It  was  a  vent  to  nervous 
irritation. 

"  Well,  I  don'  know  what  you  call  wuss  and  what  you 
call  better.  Texas  and  preachings  and  girls  is  awfully 
mixed  up  in  Mark's  head — a  sort  of  jumble,  like  a  Fourth 
of  July  speech,  or  the  sermon  of  a  red-hot  young  exhauster, 
and  the  like,  you  know.  But  I  reckon  it'll  clarify,  as  the 
old  woman  said  of  the  duck-puddle  when  she  spilled  her 
eggs  into  it." 

"  What  girls  do  you  think  of,  that  Mark  likes  ?  " 

'4  Oh !  last  summer  it  was  that  Kirtley  witch,  now  it's 


B01TAMY,  SENIOR.  169 

Tom  Adams's  Roxy.  She's  the  very  angel  Gabriel,  and 
the  like,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  well,  I  didn't  know  but  it  was  something  worse. 
Every  young  man  has  to  be  a  fool  about  something.  You 
and  I,  we  had  our  turn,  Major."  And  Bonarny  smiled 
condescendingly. 

"  We  rekivered  mighty  devilish  airly  though,  Colonel, 
and  we  haint  had  many  relapses.  Playing  poker  with  an 
old  hand  like  you  is  my  very  worst,  Colonel.  When  I  do 
that  I'm  like  Samson  in  the  lion's  den."  And  with  this 
the  sheriff  departed,  smiling. 

Colonel  Bonamy  had  treated  Lathers's  communication 
with  dignified  indifference,  but  Lathers  knew  how  to 
estimate  this  affectation.  He  had  seen  the  colonel's  im 
movable  face  when  he  lost  and  when  he  won  at  poker. 

"  He's  mad  as  a  black  bear,"  said  Lathers  to  himself. 
And  when,  half  an  hour  later,  he  saw  the  lawyer  enter 
the  shop  of  Adams,  he  was  confirmed  in  his  surmise. 

"  What  cut  is  the  old  fellow  taking  ?  "  was  the  question 
that  Lathers  could  not  answer.  That  Bonamy  meant  to 
break  off  Mark's  attachment  to  Roxy  he  did  not  doubt, 
but  how  ? 

"  He's  powerful  deep,  that  Colonel  Bonamy.  He's 
deeper' n  the  Old  Boy."  It  was  thus  he  comforted  himself 
for  his  inability  to  guess  what  was  the  old  lawyer's  line 
of  attack. 

Nevertheless,  he  saw  his  opportunity  to  serve  his  own 
ends.  He  watched  for  Mark  and  took  him  aside  to  tell 
him  that  the  old  man  was  "  lookin'  after  "  his  love  affairs, 
and  had  been  "  inquirin'  round  "  about  Mark's  attach 
ment  to  Roxy.  For  his  part,  he  disapproved  of  "  med- 
dlin' "  and  the  like,  and  felt  bound,  as  an  old  friend  of 
Mark's,  to  give  him  a  sly  hint  and  the  like,  you  know, 
8 


170  ROXY. 

that  the  old  man  had  been  over  to  see  Adams  on  the  sub 
ject.  Whereupon  Mark,  of  course,  grew  red  in  the  face. 
Was  he  not  able  to  settle  such  matters  for  himself  ?  It  is 
a  way  we  civilized  men  have.  We  are  all  able  to  take 
care  of  ourselves  in  love  affairs  when  we  are  young,  and 
when  we  get  old,  we  are  all  convinced  of  the  inability 
of  other  folks  in  youth,  to  look  out  for  themselves. 


CHAPTEE  XXIV. 

BY   THE   FLANK. 

WHEN  Lathers  had  left  Colonel  Bonamy,  the  old  man 
did  not  look  at  the  blazing  brass  ball  any  more,  br.t  looked 
steadily  at  the  floor  as  he  resumed  his  pacing  to  and  fro. 
He  thrust  his  hands  into  the  pockets  of  his  brown  linen 
trowsers  and  laughed  inaudibly. 

"  By — George  ! "  The  colonel  drew  the  first  word  out 
to  its  fullest  length  and  then  cut  the  other  off  short  and 
sharp,  with  a  faint  inward  chuckle  at  the  end.  It  was 
his  note  of  triumph.  There  was  then  a  road  out  of  this 
embarrassment  about  a  son  who  had  the  misfortune  to  in 
herit  a  streak  of  moral  enthusiasm  from  his  mother.  It 
was  a  favorite  maxim  with  the  old  lawyer :  "  concede 
small  points  to  carry  large  ones." 

' '  I  will  give  him  his  first  point  and  gain  the  suit,"  he 
soliloquized.  Then  after  a  while  he  came  out  with  an 
appeal  to  some  private  deity  of  his  own  whom  he  called 
"  Godomighty."  For  the  colonel  was  rather  full  of  such 
words  for  a  man  who  was  an  ostentatious  disbeliever  in 
any  god. 

When  he  had  looked  at  his  empty  Franklin  sto\e 
a  while  he  suddenly  became  interested  in  his  boots.  He 
lifted  his  left  foot  and  examined  the  sole  carefully,  then 
he  looked  at  the  right  one,  then  he  took  his  beaver  hat 

o  " 

from  the  mantel-piece  and  went  out  into  the  scorching 
heat  of  the  summer  afternoon.     The  little  shop  of  Mr. 


172 

Adams  stood  in  the  main  street  which  ran  toward  the 
river;  there  were  higher  buildings  all  abcut  it,  but  it  had 
held  its  place  for  more  than  a  generation,  having  been  a 
store,  and  the  only  one  in  the  town  at  the  beginning.  It  was 
in  some  sense  the  germ  cell  from  which  all  the  trade  cf 
the  place  had  grown.  The  door  of  the  old  shoe-shop  was 
wide  open,  the  smell  of  leather  diffused  itself  into  the 
street  without,  and  scraps  and  bits  from  the  shop  were 
scattered  as  far  as  the  gutter.  The  meditative  Adams 
sat  doubled  together,  hammering  vigorously  upon  a  bit  of 
leather.  Did  his  trade  give  him  his  sturdy  speech  ?  Of 
all  mechanical  occupations,  that  of  the  shoe-maker  is  the 
most  favorable  to  reflection  and  to  vehement  expression. 
Adams  hammered  theories,  as  he  did  the  leather  on  his 
lap- stone. 

x        By  Adams's  side  sat  little  Ben  Boone,  an  illegitimate 
!  child  in  a  family  doomed  to  poverty  in  all  its  generations. 
There  are  whole  races  of  people  who  have  a  genius  for 
wretchedness  ;  it  conies  to  them  as  a  vocation. 

"  Why  don't  you  take  the  shoe  and  go  ?  "  demanded  the 
shoe-maker  sternly,  pausing  in  his  hammering. 

"  Gran'mother  says  she  can't  pay  yon  till " 

"  Go  'long  with  you,  and  don't  say  another  word,"  burst 
out  the  shoe-maker. 

The  boy  started  out,  frightened  into  silence. 

"  Stop  ! "  called  the  shoe-maker,  relenting.  "  Tell  your 
grandmother  when  the  shoe  gives  out  again,  to  send  it  to 
me.  Don't  take  my  work  over  to  Jim  Hone's  shop. 
Here's  some  leather  to  make  a  whirligig  of.  Go,  now. 
Out  with  you  ! " 

"Aha!"'  said  Bonamy,  as  he  entered  the  shop.  "I 
didn't  know  yon  kept  charity  customers." 

"  Charity !  pshaw  1     You  know,  Colonel,  that  I'm,  a  fool 


BY  THE  FLANK.  173 

to  give  away  time  and  good  leather  to  shiftless  people  like 
the  Boor.es.  And  if  you  had  the  politeness  that  people 
«ay  you  have,  you  would  not  twit  me  with  it.  AYe  all 
nave  our  weaknesses.' : 

"  I  don't  know,5'  said  Bonamy,  who  was,  as  usual,  left  by 
the  ambiguousaess  of  Adams's  tone,  in  a  perplexing  doubt 
as  to  whether  he  were  jesting  or  quarreling. — a  doabt 
which  Adams  was  generally  unable  to  solve  himself.  "  1 
don't  know  about  that,  Mr.  Adams.  I  have  out-grown 
most  of  mine,  and  yours  seem  to  be  very  commendable 
ones." 

Saying  this,  the  colonel  took  a  seat  on  the  vacant  bench, 
which  was  occupied  in  busy  seasons  by  a  journeyman. 
He  sat  down  on  this  low  bench,  among  bits  of  leather,  pegs, 
wax,  lasts,  hammers  and  what-nots,  with  all  of  his  accus 
tomed  stateliness,  gently  lifting  his  coat-tails  and  posing 
his  tall  figure  by  the  side  of  the  stooped  and  grizzled  shoe 
maker,  with  an  evident  sense  of  his  picturesqueness. 

"  That  boot  needs  a  few  pegs  in  the  hollow  of  the  foot, 
I  think." 

"  Widowers  are  dreadful  particular,  Colonel.  There's 
nothing  much  the  matter  with  the  boot." 

'*  You  forget  that  you're  a  widower,  too.  But  young 
folks  are  likely  to  beat  us.  They  do  say  now  that  my 
Mark  and  your  Roxy " 

"  Are  a  couple  of  fools,"  cried  the  irascible  shoe-maker, 
btung  by  something  in  Bonamy's  tone  which  he  inter 
preted  to  mean  that  the  house  of  Adams  ought  to  feel 
very  much  flattered  by  its  present  juxtaposition,  in  the 
gossip  of  the  village,  with  the  house  of  Bonamy. 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"  For  two  fools  like  them  to  be  talking  of  going  to 
Texas  to  carry  the  Gospel  is  an  outrage.  I  think  Texas  '1! 


30X7. 

convert  the  missionary  instead  of  the  missionary  con 
verting  Texas.  It's  bad  enough  for  Mark  to  make  a  foo1 
of  himself.  I  wish  he  would  go  to  Texas  and  be  done 
witli  it,  and  not  turn  Roxy's  head." 

"Do  you  really  think  they  care  for  each  other?"  put  i» 
the  lawyer,  diplomatically. 

"Mark  would  be  a  fool,  sir,  if  he  didn't  like  Roxy. 
And  what  does  he  mean  by  all  his  attentions  if  he  doesn't 
care  for  her?  He  ought  to  be  shot  if  he  doesn't  care. 
I've  half  a  mind  to  interfere  and  break  it  up.  I  would  if 
I  was  the  man  I  ought  to  be." 

"  Between  you  and  me,  I  don't  think  Mark  '11  go.  I'm 
glad  he  likes  Roxy.  It  will  keep  him  at  home." 

"  She's  as  crazy  as  he  is,"  said  Adams.  "  These  Metho 
dists  have  made  loons  out  of  both  of  them." 

"  Well,  we  '11  see."  And  after  a  minute  the  old  lawyer 
took  back  his  boot,  in  which  a  few  pegs  had  been  tight 
ened,  drew  it  on  and  sauntered  out  of  the  shop,  and  thence 
down  the  street  and  around  the  corner  to  his  office.  Mark 
sat  writing  at  his  own  desk  in  the  office,  full  of  anger  at 
what  Lathers  had  told  him. 

"  Mark !  "  said  the  father. 

"  Sir,"  answered  the  son,  using  the  respectful  word 
prescribed  in  the  code  of  manners  of  Western  and  South 
ern  society,  but  uttering  it  in  anything  but  a  decent 
tone. 

"  You've  really  made  up  your  mind  to  go  to  Texas  ?  " 

u  Of  course  I  have." 

"  They  tell  me  you've  been  paying  attention  to  Tom 
Adams's  Roxy," 

"  I  think  you  might  speak  a  little  more  rest>ectf  ully  of 
a  lady  that  I  have  paid  attentions  to." 

"Can't  you   answer  me  in   a   Christian  spirit,  young 


BY  THb  FLANK. 

man  ? "  said  the  colonel,  adding  a  gentle  blasphemy  to 
this  appeal. 

"  Well,  I  think  I  can  attend  to  my  own  love  affairs." 

"  I  suppose  you  can.  But  how  in  the  name  of  the  Old 
Boy,  will  you  keep  a  wife  on  a  hundred  dollars  a  year,  on 
the  Brazos  River  ?  " 

"  I  don't  propose  to  take  a  wife  with  me." 

"  Then  what  in  thunder  are  you  making  love  to  Tom 
Adams's — to  Roxy  Adams  for  ? " 

"  I  wish  you  would  let  me  manage  my  own  affairs,"  said 
Mark,  scowling. 

"  Oh,  of  course  !  But  sometimes  an  old  man's  advice  is 
worth  having,  even  if  the  old  man  does  happen  to  be  an 
infidel.  A  father  is  entitled  to  some  respect  even  from 
Christians,  I  suppose." 

The  young  man  was  silent. 

"  Now,  I  believe  you  don't  intend  to  go  for  six  weeks 
or  so.  If  you  must  go,  marry  a  good  wife ;  Tom 
Adams's  daughter — excuse  me,  Miss  Roxy  Adams — will 
do." 

" How  can  I,  as  you  said,  on  a  hundred  a  year?  " 

"Why,  I  propose,  if  you  must  go  out  there,  to  take  care 
of  you.  I'll  do  better  than  the  church.  I'll  see  'em  that 
and  go  one  better.  Three  hundred  dollars  is  a  large  sum 
in  Texas.  I  don't  want  you  to  go  out  there  and  die. 
With  a  wife  you'll  stand  some  chance  of  living.  You  can 
think  it  over,  consult  the  girl  and  let  me  know."  With 
that  he  took  up  his  pen  to  begin  writing. 

Mark  was  full  of  surprise.  His  first  thought  was  that 
this  offer  gave  him  a  chance  of  escape  from  the  dire 
necessity  of  leaving  Roxy.  His  second  feeling  was  one  of 
shame  that  he  had  treated  his  father  so  cavalierly.  He 
rose  impulsively  and  said, 


176  ROXY. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  speaking  as  I  did.  You  are 
very  kind."  And  he  held  out  his  hand. 

But  the  elder  did  not  look  up.  He  uttered  something 
about  the  devil,  and  said  that  it  was  all  right,  of  course. 

Mark  left  the  office  full  of  cheerfulness.  The  gift 
horse  was  too  valuable  to  be  examined  closely.  Such  is 
the  case  generally  in  the  matter  of  gift  horses,  notwith 
standing  the  bitter  experience  of  the  Trojans. 

The  wily  old  lawyer,  when  once  the  young  man  waa 
gone,  relaxed  his  face  into  a  noncommittal  smile,  and 
ejaculated  the  name  of  his  heathen  divinity  again. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

SAINT  THEKESA  OF  THE  HONEYSUCKLES. 

MYSTIC  that  she  was,  Roxy  was  ever  looking  for  some 
celestial  communication.  To  such  a  nature,  heaven  is  all 
about.  There  are  no  accidents ;  the  angels  minister  in 
whatever  befalls.  So  when  Mark  came,  he  found  her 
with  the  old  gladness  shining  from  her  face,  singing  with 
irrepressible  spontaneity  and  the  delicious  melody  of  a 
Yirgyiia  wood-robin.  Nothing  could  be  more  inspiriting 
than  the  martial  enthusiasm  and  fire  of  fine  sincerity  with 
which  she  rendered  Charles  Wesley's  hymn,  beginning : 

"  Jesus,  the  name  high  over  all, 

In  hell,  or  earth,  or  sky, 

Angels  and  men  before  it  fall 

And  devils  fear  and  fly." 

Mark  came  into  hearing  as  she  concluded  the  singing 
of  the  first  verse,  and  he  paused  involuntarily  to  hear  the 
rest.  Roxy  omitted  the  next  stanza,  and  struck  into  the 
third,  which  exactly  fitted  her  mood : 

*'  Oh,  that  the  world  might  taste  and  see 

The  riches  of  his  grace, 
The  arms  of  love  that  compass  me 
Would  all  mankind  embrace." 

The  rich  voice  gave  a  new  meaning  to  the  words,  and 
Bonamy  could  see  in  her  face,  framed  in  the  honeysuckle 
8* 


178  ROXY. 

that  grew  over  the  window,  the  reflex  of  all  she  sang,  aa 
she  plied  her  needle  and  rocked  slowly  to  and  fro.  Again 
she  skipped — she  was  thinking  of  the  dangers  of  life  in 
Texas,  perhaps,  bnt  she  dropped  now  to  the  last  verse  of  the 
hymn,  and  Charles  Wesley  himself  would  have  found  new 
meanicg  in  his  own  words,  could  he  have  heard  her  sing, 
iu  a  tone  now  soft  and  low,  but  full  of  pathetic  exultatioD 
Btill: 

"  Happy,  if  with  my  latest  breath, 

I  may  but  gasp  his  name, 
Preach  him  to  all,  and  cry  in  death, 
Behold,  behold  the  Lamb  I  " 

While  she  sang  these  words,  Bonamy  came  softly  into 
the  yard  and  walked  up  to  the  window,  .pulling  aside  the 
honeysuckles.  lioxy  was  not  startled.  Mark  had  been  so 
present  in  her  imaginings  that  it  seemed  to  the  rapt  girl 
the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  to  see  him  standing 
there  looking  at  her,  with  his  face  suffused  with  emotion. 

"  A  body  could  suffer  and  die,  with  you  to  strengthen," 
he  said. 

"No,  with  God.  It  is  God  that  gives  me  this  desire  to 
suffer  or  to  die  for  him.  I  know  it  is  given  for  something, 
but  I  must  wait  until  the  way  is  open  for  me." 

"  The  way  is  opened  to-day.  Before  New  Year's,  I  hope 
that  you  and  I  will  be  carrying  out  the  spirit  of  that  hymn 
in  the  republic  of  Texas." 

"  Why  ?     How  3     Come  in  and  tell  me." 

"Mark  went  in,  and,  saluting  her  with  a  lover's  warmth, 
told  her  what  his  father  had  said.  Help  from  this  quartei 
was  just  the  most  miraculous  thing  in  the  world.  The 
Maid  of  Orleans  was  not  more  eure  of  a  divine  vocation, 
than  was  Roxy  at  that  moment.  She  pushed  her  chair 


SAINT  THERESA   OF  THE  HONEYSUCKLES.      179 

back  from  the  window,  beckoned  Mark  to  kneel  down 
with  her,  and  then,  with  the  enthusiasm  of  Saint  Theresa 
when  she  sought  in  childhood  a  martyrdom  among  the 
Moors,  Roxy  poured  out  thanks  to  God  for  the  inestimable 
privilege  of  suffering,  and  perhaps  of  dying,  for  the  Lord. 

Mark  left  Roxy  when  the  tavern  bell  was  ringing  its 
muezzin  call  to  supper.  He  went  away  as  he  always  left 
her  presence,  in  a  state  of  sympathetic  exaltation,  which 
would  have  lasted  him  until  he  could  have  sunned  himself 
again  in  her  religious  experience,  had  it  not  been  that  in 
his  walk  toward  home,  he  met  Haz  Kirtley.  The  sight 
of  the  drayman  disturbed  his  complacency  with  recol 
lections  of  his  past  failures.  He  had  no  fear  now  of  any 
enticement  from  Nancy,  but  he  was  growing  a  little  more 
distrustful  of  himself,  in  a  general  way.  A  lurking  feel 
ing  that  underneath  this  missionary  Mark  was  a  treacherous 
other  self,  capable  of  repeating  the  follies  of  the  past, 
troubled  him.  He  longed  for  Texas,  not  as  of  old  to  leave 
Nancy  behind,  but  because  he  felt,  as  who  does  not,  that 
a  great  change  in  circumstance  would  help  to  make  a 
change  in  him.  He  forgot,  as  we  all  forget,  that  the  ugly 
self  is  not  to  be  left  behind.  There  is  no  way  but  to  turn 
and  face  a  foe  who  must  needs  be  mess-mate  and  bed 
fellow  with  us  to  the  very  end. 

That  night,  at  supper,  Amanda,  the  elder  of  the  sisters 
Bonamy,  told  Mark  that  he  would  better  learn  to  make 
shoes.  This  obscure  allusion  to  the  trade  of  Roxy's  father 
was  meant  for  wit  and  sarcasm,  but  to  Amanda's  surprise, 
her  father  took  up  for  Mark.  Roxy  Adams  was  a  line 
girl, — a  little  too  pious,  but  at  least  that  was  not  a  common 
fault  with  girls.  And  Janet,  the  impulsive  younger  sister, 
Baid  she  wished  Mark  would  marry  Roxy.  She  had  such  a 
handsome  face,  with  a  glad  look  shining  out  from  behind, 


180  ROXT. 

"What  a  little  goose  you  are!"  said  the  dignified 
Amanda  ;  "  did  ever  anybody  hear  such  nonsense  ? — a 
glad  look  shining  out  from  behind  !  Silly !  For  my  part, 
I  don't  like  a  girl  that  is  always  smiling." 

"  But  she  don't  smile.  She  only  looks  glad,"  persisted 
Janet. 

"  As  if  anybody  could  look  glad  without  smiling  1  Let's 
see  you  try." 

"  Oh,  I  can't !  It's  just  like  before  the  sun  comes  up 
ir,  the  morning, — the  hills  on  the  other  side  of  the  river 
show  the  bright  sky  through  the  trees,  the  water  looks  like 
gold,  the  houses  seem  to  stand  out  with  light  all  around 
them,  in  a  splendid  kind  of  a  way.  It's  sunshine  just 
agoing  to  come,  like  Roxy's  smile,  that  isn't  quite  a  smile, 
you  know." 

The  father  laughed,  as  he  might  have  laughed  at  baby- 
talk.  Mark  patted  the  girl  on  the  shoulder,  with : 

"  A  poet  in  the  family,  I  declare." 

"  A  goose  in  the  family,"  said  Amanda.  "  A  smile 
that  isn't  quite  a  smile  is  a  sensible  remark !  You'd 
better  go  to  school  to  Roxy.  She's  teaching  one  idiot  now, 
and  I  don't  know  but  she's  got  two."  This  last  with  a 
look  at  Mark. 

As  for  Mrs.  Hanks,  she  was  not  quite  satisfied  when 
she  heard  of  the  arrangement.  She  thought  the  colonel 
should  have  insisted  on  Mark's  staying'  at  home.  But  he 
would  come  to  be  somebody  yet, — a  presiding  elder  and 
maybe  a  bishop.  She  was  glad,  for  her  part,  that  Roxy 
had  taker,  her  advice.  It  was  a  good  deal  better  than 
marrying  a  Presbyterian,  anyhow.  Roxy  would  have  a 
good  and  talented  husband,  and  a  Methodist,  with  real 
heart  religion. 

"  Wait  till  the  pie  is  cut  t«fore  you  say  whether  they'fl 


SAINT  THERESA   OF  TEE  HONEYSUCKLES.      18 1 

blackberries,  or  elderberries,  or  pisen  poke-berries  insides," 
said  Jemima. 

Twomiet  tried  to  think  the  best  when  Roxy  told  her. 
But  the  knowledge  that  Roxy  had  of  her  friend's  opinion 
of  Mark  was  a  wedge  of  estrangement  between  them 
They  visited  each  other,  but  their  intercourse  became 
more  and  more  constrained.  Each  blamed  the  other  for 
the  cooling  of  a  friendship  which  they  had  often  vowed 
should  be  eternal.  In  such  gradual  dissolutions  of  eternal 
friendships,  each  party,  feeling  herself  innocent,  is  sure 
that  the  other  must  be  censurable.  They  never  think  of 
falling  out  with  those  deep  and  irresistible  currents  in 
human  nature  before  the  force  of  which  we  are  all  helpless. 

The  whole  town  was  agitated  by  the  news  of  the  en 
gagement.  For  it  wras  news.  "What  battles  and  bank 
ruptcies  are  to  a  metropolis,  such  are  marriages  and  deaths 
to  a  village.  The  match-makers  were  generally  pleased ; 
for  there  was  romance  in  the  wild  stories  of  how  Colonel 
Bonamy  had  quarreled  with  his  son  about  going  to  Texas, 
but  had  finally  consented  to  the  marriage  and  the  mission. 
It  was  generally  agreed  that  the  old  man  was  not  "  nigh 
so  hard-hearted  since  his  wife  died."  He  might  get  over 
his  infidelity  yet,  some  day — though  he  did  swear  dread 
ful,  you  know.  Some  thought  that  he  meant  to  run 
for  Congress,  and  wanted  to  get  Mark  out  of  the  way 
and  purchase  the  favor  of  the  Methodists,  at  the  same 
time. 

Mr.  Highbury  was  delighted  that  his  own  words  had 
weighed  with  Whittaker,  an'd  Mrs.  Highbury  rocked  her 
little  fat  body  to  and  fro,  lifting  her  toes  off  the  floor  each 
time,  and  rhythmically  echoed  Mr.  Highbury's  opinion 
that  no  man  ought  to  preach  without  a  theological 
education. 


CHAPTEE  XXVI. 

A  PAKTHEB. 

JIM  M  ^  TOWAN,  of  Rocky  Fork,  who  had  felt  keenly  his 
insecurity  in  the  affections  of  "Nancy  Kirtley  ever  since 
the  advent  of  young  Bouamy  on  his  electioneering  trip, 
heard  of  Mark's  engagement  with  relief.  He  had  brought 
a  load  of  wood  to  town  and  sold  it  to  old  Mrs.  Tartrum, 
the  ideal  town  gossip,  who  assailed  the  very  children  upon 
the  street  with  persistent  catechisms  about  the  affairs  of 
their  parents,  and  whose  love  of  hearing  was  only  equaled 
by  her  love  of  telling.  In  the  absence  of  any  other  uniu 
formed  hearer,  she  poured  the  whole  story  of  the  colonel's 
opposition  and  the  colonel's  arrangement  and  Amanda's 
"  dudgeon,"  into  the  ears  of  the  eager  Jim  McGowan, 
while  he  was  throwing  a  cord  of  ash  wood  over  her  l>act 
fence.  She  added  the  information  that  the  Bonarrm, 
were  a  regular  big  fish  family,  and  that  it  was  a  great  rise 
for  a  poor  girl. 

Jim  drove  home  in  a  state  of  glorification.  He  was 
cure  that  Nancy  would  be  humble  enough  now.  She  had 
alwajs  been  gracious  to  him  in  proportion  to  Bon  a  my 's 
remoteness.  Now  that  Bonamy  was  gone  entirely,  Nancy 
would  set  her  lines  for  Jim  more  carefully  than  evor.  Ho 
would  hold  back,  and  let  her  see  how  it  felt  to  be  kept  off. 
It  was  her  turn  to  fish  a  while.  Jim  McGowan  is  not  the 
only  man  who  finds,  to  his  sorrow,  just  when  he  thinks  he 
understands,  that  he  has  not  begun  to  understand  a  woman. 

/  O 


A  PANTHER.  183 

Jim  was  a  little  distant  with  Nancy.  She  was  looking 
her  best  in  a  new  calico,  for  she  had  seen  him  go  down  in 
the  morning.  It  was  all  the  poor  fellow  could  do  to  keep 
up  his  lofty  and  half -injured  air.  He  wan  ted  to  introduce 
the  news  he  had  to  tell  in  an  accidental  way,  as  though  it 
were  a  matter  of  indifference  to  him.  But  the  girl  wa? 
so  dazzling  that  he  could  not  well  keep  his  head. 

Nancy  Kirtley  was  a  flower  of  that  curious  poor-white^ 
race  which  is  called  "  tar-heel  "  in  the  northern  Carolina, 
"  sand-hiller  "  in  the  southern,  "  corn-cracker  "  in  Ken 
tucky,  "  yahoo  "  in  Mississippi,  and  in  California  "  Pike." 
They  never  continue  in  one  stay,  but  are  the  half  gypsies 
of  America,  seeking  by  shiftless  removals  from  one  region 
to  another  to  better  their  wretched  fortunes,  or,  more 
likely,  to  gratify  a  restless  love  of  change  and  adventure. 
They  are  the  Hoosiers  of  the  dark  regions  of  Indiana  arid 
the  Egyptians  of  southern  Illinois.  Always  in  a  half- 
barbarous  state,  it  is  among  them  that  lynchings  most 
prevail.  Their  love  of  excitement  drives  them  into  a 
daring  life  and  often  into  crime.  From  them  came  the 
Kentucky  frontiersmen,  the  Texan  rangers,  the  Murrell 
highwaymen,  the  Arkansas  regulators  and  anti-regulators, 
the  ancient  keel-boatmen,  the  more  modern  flat-boatmen 
and  raftsmen  and  roustabouts,  and  this  race  furnishes, 
perhaps,  more  than  its  share  of  the  "  road  agents  "  that 
infest  the  territories.  Brave  men  and  generous  men  are 
often  found  among  them  ;  but  they  are  never  able  to  rise 
above  Daniel  Boones  and  Simon  Ken  tons.  Beautiful 
women,  of  th  j  magnificent,  swarthy,  half -oriental,  animal 
sort,  spring  now  and  then  from  this  stock,  and  of  these 
Nancy  was  one, — a  perfect  gypsy  queen  of  beauty  as  she 
stood  there  that  day  and  set  poor  McGowan  wild.  She 
was  more  cordial  than  usual,  and  the  poor,  distracted 


184  ROXY. 

fellow  found  himself  prone  to  receive  gratefully  so  much 
sunshine,  Getting  desperate,  he  came  out  at  last  with  : 

"Nancy,  you  remember  that  air  Mark  Bonamy  that 
come  foolin'  roun'  here  last  year,  runnin'  fer  the  legis 
lated 

"  I  'low  you  ricollect  him,  Jim.  You've  been  mad 
enough  about  him  ever  since.  And  you  got  fined  over't 
Republican  meetm'-house  for  disturbiii'  his  meetin'.  And 
I'll  bet  he  don't  forgit  me."  With  that  Nancy  tossed 
back  her  abundant  dark-brown  hair  and  threw  out  her 
chin  in  a  saucy,  triumphant  fashion  that  set  her  lover  wild. 
"  I  haint  a  gal  to  be  forgot  easy,  now,  am  I,  Jim  ?  And 
he's  a  feller  worth  while,"  she  added,  getting  up  and  pos 
ing  her  magnificent  figure  on  the  hearth  where  Jim  could 
Bee  to  the  best  advantage  her  perfect  ^hape,  her  great 
black  eyes  with  a  soft  sensuous  droop  in  them,  her  rich 
complexion,  her  well-set  red  lips  and  whito  teeth. 

"  What  a  creetur  you  air,  Nance  !  "  cried  Jim,  leading 
forward  in  a  frantic  state  of  mingled  love  and  despair. 
"  I  was  going  to  tell  you  some  news,  but  I  sha'n't  if  you 
go  on  that  way." 

"  What  way,  Jim  ?  Don't  be  a  fool  about  Bonamy  jest 
because  he's  so  handsome.  What  about  him  ?  Is  he  com 
ing  out  here  to  see  me  ?  I  wish  he  would.  He's  as  big  a 
fool  as  you  air." 

"I  'low  I'd  better  go,"  said  Jim,  rising  with  an  air  of 
offense,  but  sure  that  his  news  would  humble  Nancy.  "All 
they  is  about  it  is  that  Mark  Bonamy  is  goin'  to  marry 
shoe- maker  Adams's  girl,  and  both  on  'em  is  off  fer  Texas 
in  a  month  or  two  It  aint  no  matter  of  mine,  you  know, 
but  I  knowed  you'd  keer,  seem'  you  was  so  all-fired  sweet 
to  him  " 

Nancy  bridled  proudly. 


A  PANTHER.  185 

"  I'll  show  you  whether  he'll  marry  that  girl  or  not, 
dog-on  her."  She  turned  to  the  high  mantel-shelf  and 
lifted  an  old  tin  cup  which  was  turned  upside  down,  and 
picked  up  a  watch  seal. 

"May  be  you  don't  know  who  give  me  that?"  she  said, 
with  her  great  black  eyes  snapping  fire  triumphantly 
under  her  dark  brows.  Then  she  seized  from  the  other 
end  of  the  shelf  a  red  morocco  Testament.  "  May  be  you 
kin  read  writin',  Jim.  I  can't.  But  that's  his  name.  I'm 
agoin'  off  to  Luzerne  to-morry  morn  in'.  And  you  look  at 
me,  Jim."  Here  she  straightened  herself  up  proudly,  and 
her  swarthy,  almost  oriental,  beauty  became  more  wonder 
ful  when  her  whole  countenance  was  lit  up  with  defiance. 

"  How  long  kin  Roxy  Adams  staii'  agin  me  ?  Look  at 
me,  Jim,  and  say  whether  I'm  purty  or  not.  You  come 
here  saying  to  yourself :  '  Now,  when  that  Nancy  hears 
that  Bonamy's  clean  gone  she'll  be  down  on  her  knees  to 
me.'  Jest  as  ef  I  haint  got  more  beaus  than  I  kin  count. 
Jim  McGowan,  you  may  jest  go  to  thunder,  the  quicker 
the  better."  And  she  turned  fiercely  away. 

Jim  saw  his  defeat  too  clearly  to  tarry.  With  a  few 
testy  words  of  retort  he  made  his  way  out  to  his  wagon 
and  started  home.  But  ever  as  he  drove  over  the  rough 
road  of  Rocky  Fork  he  recalled  the  vision  of  the  fierce, 
dark,  magnificent  woman  standing  on  the  hearth  and 
stamping  her  foot  as  she  dismissed  him.  And  over  and 
over  in  his  mind  he  compared  her  to  a  panther,  thinking 
a  bud  as  men  of  his  class  are  prone  to  do. 

"  Blamed  ef  she  haint  a  painter.  A  regler  painter,  teeth 
an'  claws  an'  all,  by  hokey !  Looked  jest  like  a  painter- 
ready  to  spring  on  me  and  tear  me  all  to  flinders.  And 
that's  what  she  is,  painter  an'  nothin'  else.  But  gosh  I 
she's  a  splendid  creetur !  Confound  her  picter." 


CHAPTER  XXYII. 

NANCY   IN   TOWN. 

THE  solitary  horse  of  the  EJrtley  family  was  in  use  in 
the  corn-field.  Only  one  more  day's  work  was  needed  to 
"  lay  by  "  the  field,  but  Nancy  had  come  to  be  dictator ;  so 
instead  of  being  hitched  to  the  plow,  old  Bob  was  side- 
saddled  for  Nancy.  The  old  woman  scolded,  but  the 
arrangement  suited  the  father  as  well  as  it  did  the  daugh 
ter — it  gave  him  an  excuse  for  spending  the  day  at  the 
grocery  in  Canaan,  a  promised  land  comprising  three 
drinking-places  and  a  shoe-shop.  All  the  way  up  and 
down  the  hills  to  town  Nancy  turned  over  and  over  again 
in  her  mind  various  plans  of  attack.  To  exhibit  the  keep 
sakes  to  Koxy  asserting  an  engagement  between  Mark 
and  herself  might  serve  her  purpose  far  enough  to  break 
off  the  marriage  with  Roxy,  but  it  would  probably  anger 
JBonamy  and  defeat  her  main  hope.  She  was  shrewd 
enough  to  see  that  if  she  should  threaten  Mark,  or  attack 
him  in  any  way,  all  expedients  for  entrapping  him  would 
fail.  She  therefore  resolved  to  keep  vindictive  meas  ires 
till  the  last. 

Her  first  objective  point  was  an  interview  with  Mark, 
and  to  this  end  she  seated  herself  in  his  office,  early  in  tho 
afternoon,  and  awaited  his  entrance.  When  he  appeared 
on  the  door-step  she  was  offended  to  note  that  he  drew 
back  for  a  moment  as  though  he  would  fain  avoid  meet- 
her.  For  Mark  had  just  been  licensed  to  preach,  the 


NANCY  IN  TOWN.  *    187 

•day  before,  and  with  a  freshened  ser.se  of  his  responsibil 
ity,  not  only  to  God  but  to  the  public,  he  was  chagrined  to 
come  upon  Nancy  lying  in  wait.  Pie  greeted  her  as 
"  Sister  Kirtley,"  after  the  inflexible  Methodist  fashion  of 
that  day,  but  his  friendliness  went  no  further.  She  was 
piqued  at  this,  and  set  herself  to  be  attractive,  but  Mark 
was  in  no  mood  to  be  attracted.  To  dally  with  the  belle 
of  Rocky  Fork  at  a  hoe- down  on  Rocky  Fork  was  easy 
enough ;  to  have  her  obtrusive  beauty  thrust  upon  him,  in 
his  own  office  in  Luzerne,  when  he  had  a  brand  new 
license  to  preach  in  his  pocket,  a  mission  to  Texas  in  his 
mind  and  a  fresh  and  most  religious  betrothal  to  a  saint 
like  Roxy  Adams  in  his  heart,  was  quite  another  thing. 
Besides  he  momently  expected  the  advent  of  his  father. 
"What  would  the  cynical  old  atheist  say  or  do  if  he  should 
find  his  pious  son  in  such  company  ?  In  his  eager  desire 
to  be  rid  of  her  he  was  almost  rude. 

Entered  after  a  while  Bonamy  the  elder,  who  affected 
not  to  see  the  girl  and  who  immediately  absorbed  himself 
in  writing.  But  Nancy's  observing  vanity  had  detected 
the  furtive  glance  with  which  the  surprised  senior  had 
taken  her  in.  She  noted  also  the  increased  constraint  of 
Mark,  who  now  answered  her  in  curt,  half -defiant  mono 
syllables. 

Seeing  that  she  was  gaining  nothing  by  blandishment 
she  thought  to  try  a  little  skillful  intimidation.  She  began 
to  feel  for  her  handkerchief.  But  as  a  woman  has  but 
one  pocket  it  often  becomes  a  necessary  and  natural 
thing  for  her  to  remove  the  superimposed  strata  in  order 
to  reach  those  below.  Nancy  first  pulled  out  the  pocket- 
Testament  Mark  had  given  her  in  a  moment  of  effusive 
zeal. 

"  Do  you  know  that  ? "  she  said.     "  May  be  you  don't 


188  ROXY. 

ricollect.  Folks  forgits  their  country  friends  mighty  easy, 
I  pack  this  Testament  around  weth  me  all  the  time." 
She  saw  on  Mark's  face  signs  that  the  torture  was  work- 

O 

ing,  and  she  was  happy. 

"  I  declar' !  ef  I  haint  got  this  weth  me  too,"  and  she 
fished  out  the  watch  seal.  "  I  hadn't  oughter  keep  that  in 
my  pocket.  I  wouldn't  lose  it  fer  money,"  and  she  held 
it  up  and  looked  at  it.  "  When  folks  talks  about  your 
marryin'  somebody  they  don't  know't  I've  got  this  purty 
thing  in  my  pocket,  do  they  ? " 

"  Mark, "  said  Colonel  Bonainy,  who  had  now  heard 
enough  to  guess  at  the  state  of  the  case,  "  take  this  over  to 
the  clerk's  office,"  handing  a  paper.  "  See  that  it  is  fixed 
up  all  right.  Don't  hurry."  The  junior  started  off. 
"  Take  plenty  of  time  and  be  careful,1'  the  old  man  called 
after  him. 

Mark  had  turned  toward  his  father  with  his  face  aflame 
with  mortification.  But  the  old  man  spoke  dryly  as  though 
he  were  particularly  interested  in  the  business  intrusted  to 
his  son.  The  young  man  had  no  doubt  that  his  father  had 
some  ulterior  purpose  in  thus  sending  him  away,  but  he 
was  so  glad  to  be  rid  of  his  position  between  the  uncom 
fortable  Nancy  on  one  side  and  the  uncomfortable  parent 
on  the  other,  that  he  was  quite  willing  to  take  the  risk  of 
his  father's  adroit  cross-questioning  of  the  girl.  He  could 
not  divine  what  was  Colonel  Bonamy's  purpose,  but  he 
knew  that  all  the  information  that  Nancy  could  give 
would  be  extracted  in  the  interest  of  that  purpose.  When 
he  arrived  at  the  county  clerk's  office  and  opened  the  care 
fully  folded  paper,  only  to  find  to  his  confusion  that  it  was 
blank,  he  understood  that  he  had  been  sent  out  of  the 
oifice  to  remain  away  until  Nancy  should  depart.  He 
made  a  bungling  excuse  to  the  clerk  for  having  brought  a 


NANCY  IN  TOWN.  189 

blank  paper,  but  he  drew  a  favorable  augury  from  his 
father's  action. 

It  \vas  characteristic  of  the  elder  Bonamy  that  he  did 
not  begin  to  speak  at  once.  He  scratched  a  few  lines  with 
the  pen,  to  put  possible  suspicions  out  of  the  mind  of  the 
witness,  then  began  with  commonplace  remarks  about  her 
father  and  his  local  influence  on  Rocky  Fork,  proceeded 
with  some  very  bold  flatteries  quite  suited  to  the  palate  of 
the  girl,  who  seriously  began  to  debate,  whether,  failing 
the  son,  she  should  not  try  for  the  father.  Then  the  old 
lawyer  set  her  to  talking  about  Mark  ;  drew  from  her  first 
one  and  then  another  particular  of  the  young  man's  con 
duct  ;  chuckled  with  her  over  her  adroitness  in  capturing 
the  watch-seal ;  took  her  side  in  the  whole  matter,  laughed 
at  Mark's  piety;  got  out  of  her  an  account  of  the  transfer 
of  the  ^estament  to  her ;  led  her  off  on  an  unsuspecting 
account  of  her  other  numerous  triumphs ;  applauded  her 
victory  over  McGowan ;  got  her  to  boast  in  detail  of  the 
arts  she  made  use  of  in  capturing  her  admirers  ;  drew  out 
of  her  by  piecemeal  a  statement  of  her  motives  in  getting 
the  Testament  from  Mark;  and  even,  by  espousing  her 
Bide  of  the  case,  compelled  an  implied  admission  of  her 
intent  in  coming  to  town  at  that  time. 

He  had  now  given  the  fish  all  the  line  that  seemed  best. 
It  was  time  to  reel  in  as  he  could.  But  while  her  compla 
cent  vanity  was  yet  untouched  by  any  suspicion  of  his 
purpose  he  made  a  vain  endeavor  to  get  possession  of  the 
Testament  and  watch-seal. 

"  Xo  sir — no  sir-ee —  no-sir-ee.  Bob ! "  cried  the  girl  with 
a  you-don't-catch-me  air.  She  did  not  for  a  moment  doubt 
that  she  could  outwit  any  lawyer.  She  would  show  him  f 

"  Oh,  I  only  wanted  to  use  it  to  plague  Mark  with.  You 
Bee  I'm  determined  to  have  my  way  with  him." 


100 

But  the  girl  was  not  at  all  sure  that  Colonel  Bonamy'i 
way  was  her  way.  She  put  the  keepsakes  back  in  her 
pocket,  and  then  gave  the  pocket  a  little  pat  with  her  hand, 
as  though  she  said  :  "  Let  him  get  them,  if  he  can."  This 
little  dumb  show  did  not  escape  Bonarny's  quick  observa 
tion,  and  he  saw  the  hopelessness  of  trying  to  replevin  the 
trinkets,  only  saying, 

"  You  know  what  j^ou're  about,  don't  you  ? " 
But  he  began  cautiously  to  tighten  the  line.  He  ques 
tioned  Nancy  now  in  a  harder  tone,  putting  her  conduct 
in  a  light  not  so  favorable  to  herself.  Seizing  on  points 
here  and  there,  he  grouped  them  so  that  they  seemed 
ugly.  Nancy  became  irritated  and  denied  what  she  had 
said  before.  Then  the  lawyer,  with  a  good-natured  smile, 
that  had  just  a  tinge  of  something  not  so  pleasant  as  a 
smile,  pointed  out  the  contradiction.  It  was  vain  that 
Nancy  went  into  a  passion — the  lawjer  was  quiet,  and 
even  friendly.  He  wished  to  help  her  out  of  some  vague 
legal  difficulty  and  shameful  disgrace  that  he  pretended 
to  see  in  store  for  her.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life 
afraid  to  give  vent  to  her  wrath,  contending  as  she  never 
had  before,  with  a  man  who  cared  no  more  for  her  bland 
ishments  than  he  feared  her  temper,  and  who  was  as  su 
perior  to  her  in  craft  as  in  knowledge,  with  pride  and 
vanity  wounded,  and  without  power  to  avenge  the  injury, 
or  certainty  even  that  there  was  any  injury  to  avenge,  she 
found  herself  badgered  and  hemmed  in  on  every  side. 
The  lawyer  made  her  words  seem  something  else  than  she 
meant.  She  was  not  very  scrupulous  about  telling  the 
truth,  but  Colonel  Bonamy,  without  saying  anything  dis 
courteous,  made  her  appear  a  monstrous  liar,  by  giving 
back  her  words  in  senses  different  from  what  she  had  in 
tended.  At  last,  in  sheer  despair  and  defeat,  she  rose 


NANCY  IN  TOWN.  101 

to  go,  red  with  suppressed  irritation,  and  biting  her 
lips. 

"Don't  hurry,"  said  the  colonel.  "Sit  down.  Maik 
will  surely  be  here  soon,  and  if  he  thinks  as  much  of  you 
as  you  seem  to  think  he  does,  he'll  be  sorry  to  have  yon 
go  while  he  is  away.  You  say  he  is  fond  of  you,  and  I 
Buppose  it  is  so,  but  you  must  not  say  one  thing  now  and 
another  after  a  while.  Sit  down." 

Cowed  by  the  steady,  penetrating  gaze  of  the  old  man's 
hard  gray  eyes,  she  sank  back  into  the  chair,  to  undergo 
again  a  process  of  mental  and  moral  dissection,  even  more 
severe  than  that  she  had  before  experienced.  Defeat  is  a 
thousand-fold  worse  to  an  overbearing  person  accustomed 
to  triumph,  than  to  another,  and  Nancy  was  by  this  time 
in  a  state  of  frenzy.  She  must  break  out  in  some  desper 
ate  fashion,  or  die. 

"  Colonel  Bonamy,"  she  cried,  getting  to  her  feet,  and 
looking  now  like  a  volcano  in  eruption.  "  What  do  you 
keep  on  ax  in  an'  axin  sech  questions  fer  ?  Confound  yer 
lawyers'  questions !  You  set  me  crazy,  and  make  me  out 
a  liar  in  spite  of  myself.  Go  to  thunder,  I  tell  you,  with 
yer  blamed  axin  me  this  and  axin  me  that.  I'll  do  as  I 
please,  and  say  what  I  want  to ;  you  see  if  I  don't,  dog-on 
you!" 

"  I  would,"  said  the  colonel,  chuckling.  "  If  I  was 
pretty  like  you,  I'd  do  as  I  pleased,  too. "  And  after  a 
pause,  he  added,  in  an  audible  aside, — "  if  I  went  ro  peni 
tentiary  for  it.  Those  trinkets  of  Mark's  would  do  to 
begii  suit  against  him  in  case  he  don't  marry  you,  and  I 
don't  believe  he  will.  But  then,  there's  all  the  rest  that 
gave  you  things, — let's  see,  McGowan,  and  Jackson,  and 
Lumbkin,  and  Billings,  and  all  of  them.  It  might  go 
awful  hard  with  you,  if  it  could  be  proved  you  were  ep. 


192 

gaged  to  so  many  at  once.  That's  more'n  the  law  allows. 
You  know  there's  a  law  against  a  girl  being  engaged  to 
so  many  at  once.  Let's  see,  how  many  was  it  all  at  once 
that  you  said  ?  McGowan,  that's  one,  and  Jackson  is  two, 
and " 

"  I'm  agoin' ;  blamed  if  I  haint !  I  don't  want  no  more 
jaw,  lawyers  or  no  lawyers.  I'm  one  as  can  take  keer  of 
myself,  anyhow  ! " 

"  Well,  I'm  sorry  you  won't  wait  longer.  Mark  '11  be 
Dack_l» 

But  Nancy  was  already  going  out  of  the  door,  crying 
with  vexation. 

The  colonel  went  after  her.  He  wanted  to  say  just  one 
thing  more,  he  told  her.  She  stopped,  and  he  held  her  by 
his  awful  gray  eyes  while  he  asked,  severely : 

"  Did  you  say,  or  didn't  you  say,  that  Major  Lathers  waa 
at  your  house  the  night  you  say  you  danced  with  Mark  ? " 

"  Your  axin  questions  ag'in,  an'  I  wont  stan'  no  more 
of  yer  axin,  I  tell  you  !  You  may  ax  tell  ye're  blind." 

"  You'd  better  answer  that.  Remember  I  know  all 
about  these  things,  now.  You've  told  me  yourself." 

"  No,  you  don't.  I  sha'n't  tell  you  whether  Lathers  waa 
there  or  not.  You're  just  wind  in'  me  up  and  windin'  me 
up,  with  yer  axin.  You  may  ax  tell  yer  blind." 

"Was  Lathers  at  your  house  the  night  you  say  you 
danced  with  Mark  ?  You  say  so.  I  don't,  know  whether 
it  is  so  or  not.  You  don't  always  tell  the  same  story.  It 
mayn't  be  true." 

"  I  tell  you  it  is  true,  you  old — you  old " 

"Well,  what?  Speak  right  out.  It'll  do  you  good. 
I'm  an  old  what?" 

But  Nancy  choked  herself,  and  kept  down  her  epithets, 
fearing  something,  she  could  not  tell  what. 


NANGT  IN  TOWN.  193 

"  I  was  going  to  give  you  some  good  advice,"  proceeded 
Bonamy.  "  But  it  don't  matter  to  me  what  becomes  of 
you,  if  you  talk  that  way.  1  don't  believe  now  that  Mark 
danced  with  you  at  all." 

"You  don't,  hey?  You  jest  go  right  straight  and  ax 
Major  Lathers.  Didn't  he  try  to  keep  Mark  from  dancin' 
with  me  ?  He'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 

"  Oh,  that's  what  I  wanted  to  know — whether  Lathers 
was  there  or  not.  You've  told  me  now." 

"No,  I  haint,  nuther." 

"  Why,  how  could  Lathers  tell  me  about  Mark's  dancing 
with  you,  and  how  could  he  try  to  keep  Mark  from  danc 
ing  with  you,  if  he  was  not  there?  But  I  won't  tell 
Lathers,"  he  added,  as  though  in  a  half  soliloquy,  "  for  I 
don't  want  to  get  you  into  trouble.  You  know  he's  sheriff, 
and  the  sheriff  takes  up  people.  If  I  should  tell  him  you 

were  in  town  now .  But  you  said  he  was  there  that 

night,  didn't  you  ?  " 

"I  haint  agoin'  to  talk  to  you  no  more.  You'll  make 
me  tell  more'n  I  ever  know'd,  in  spite  of  myself,  with  yer 
everlastin'  talkin'  an'  talkin',  an'  axin  an'  axin.  Go  long 
with  yer  old -" 

But  Nancy  did  not  finish  her  sentence.  Bonamy  had 
cowed  her  so  that  she  feared  she  knew  not  what  of  defeat 
and  mortification  if  she  should  say  another  word,  and  she 
was  utterly  choked  with  vexation. 

Colonel  Bonamy  had  at  least  made  sure  that  Nancy 
would  carry  no  confidences  to  the  ingenious  sheriff.  His 
vague  hints  had  excited  an  undefined  fear  in  her  ignorant 
mind,  already  cowed  by  the  badgering  and  tormenting 
course  of  cross-questioning  to  which  she  had  been  sub 
jected.  The  whole  machinery  of  the  law  was  incompre 
hensible  by  her,  and  she  was  not  sure  but  that  Major 
y 


194:  ROXY. 

Lathers,  if  he  should  come  to  know  how  many  engaged 
lovers  she  had  had  at  one  time,  might  send  the  jury  to 
arrest  her,  whereupon  she  would  be  in  danger  of  being 
tried  by  a  lot  of  lawyers  and  colonels,  and  then  locked  up 
by  the  judge. 

She  went  back  to  Haz  Kirtley's  full  of  wrath,  but  all 
her  ferocity  was  dammed  up  and  turned  back  in  a  flood  of 
bitterness  upon  herself.  So  entirely  had  the  lawyer  daunt 
ed  her  that  she  even  feared  to  resort  to  her  extreme 
revenge  of  an  interview  with  Roxy.  Roxy  might  triumph 
over  her  also,  exulting  in  her  own  success.  She  sullenly 
put  the  saddle  on  old  Bob  and  rode  away  up  the  hill, 
stopping  at  the  top  to  shake  her  fist  and  threaten  that  she 
would  yet  come  back  and.  tell  that  good-for-nothing  town 
girl  something  that  woull  make  her  hate  Mark  Bonamy. 


CHAPTEE  XXVIIL 

EVERMORE. 

MRS.  HANZS  offered  to  make  a  wedding  for  Roxy. 
She  was  quite  willing  to  increase  her  own  social  import 
ance  by  this  alliance  of  Roxy's.  But  the  bride  would  not 
have  her  aunt's  fine  wedding.  She  did  not  want  a  fine 
wedding  at  all.  To  marry  the  hero  she  worshiped  and 
then  to  start  hand  in  hand  with  him  to  the  wildest  and 
savagest  country  they  could  find,  there  to  live  and  labor 
for  the  rescue  of  the  souls  of  wicked  people,  entirely 
satisfied  her  ambition. 

She  did  not  like  to  accept  a  wedding  from  her  aunt,  for 
Roxy's  humility  was  purely  a  religious  humility ;  her 
pride  was  quick  ;  to  be  poor  did  not  trouble  her — to  be 
patronized  was  intolerable,  most  of  all  to  be  patronized  by 
Mrs.  Hanks.  And  had  Roxy  been  willing,  Adams  would 
have  refused ;  all  his  native  crookedness  was  intensified 
by  his  antipathy  to  his  sister-in-law.  But  Roxy  accepted 
from  her  aunt  the  loan  of  Jemima,  whose  hands  rendered 
an  energetic  assistance,  but  whose  tongue  could  not  be 
quite  still.  Instead  of  denouncing  Mark  in  particular, 
she  now  gave  way  to  philippics  against  men  in  general. 
Roxy's  dreams  of  a  lodge  in  some  vast  wilderness,  with 
Mark's  love  to  comfort  her  and  a  semi-martyrdom  to 
glorify  her,  were  rudely  disturbed  by  Jemima's  incessant 
exposition  of  the  faithlessness  and  selfishness  of  the  "  male 
sect,"  as  she  called  it.  ''  They  can't  no  more  be  depended 


196  ROXT. 

on  than  a  rotten  log  across  a  crick.  Looks  all  right. 
kivered  over  with  moss ;  but  jest  try  to  cross  on  it  oust  and 
the  crick  '11  come  flyin'  np  in  yore  face.  I  wouldn't  marry 
the  whole  twelve  apossils  theirs.elves.  Jest  look  at  Simon 
Peter  and  Judas  Iscariot,  fer  instance.  I  tell  you  what 
it  is,  Hoxy,  the  heart  of  man  is  deceitful,  and  some  men's* 
hearts  is  desp'rate." 

Twonnet  helped  also  in  the  wedding  preparations,  and 
she  was  rather  more  comfortable  than  Jemima.  For  when 
once  a  wedding  is  determined  on,  one  ever  hopes  for  the 
best.  The  parson,  when  he  blesses  the  most  ill-starred 
match,  hopes  for  impossible  good  luck  to  give  happiness  to 
a  couple  foreordained  to  misery.  Twonnet  showed  her 
solicitude  now  and  then  by  lapses  of  silence  quite  unusual. 
Between  the  silence  of  the  one  and  the  speech  of  the  other 
of  her  helpmates,  Hoxy  wished  for  Texas. 

As  Colonel  Bonamy  considered  Mark's  marriage  with 
Hoxy  the  surest  means  of  defeating  the  missionary  pro 
ject,  ho  wished  to  hasten  the  wedding,  lest  something 
should  happen  to  interfere  with  his  plan.  In  particular 
did  he  appreciate  the  necessity  for  haste  after  his  meeting 
with  Nancy.  Nancy  might  appeal  to  Roxy,  or  Lathers 
might  get  hold  of  the  story  and  use  it  to  Mark's  discredit 
and  his  father's  annoyance.  If  he  could  once  get  Mark 
married,  he  would  have  placed  him  in  a  position  of  depend 
ence.  However,  the  colonel  had  a  liking  for  a  good  wife 
as  a  thing  that  was  sure  to  be  profitable  to  a  man.  Roxy 
probably  had  no  extravagant  tastes,  would  be  flattered  by 
her  marriage  into  such  a  family  as  the  Bonamys,  and  her 
influence  over  Mark  would,  after  a  while,  be  just  sufficient 
to  keep  him  sober  and  steady  at  his  work.  Besides,  be 
feared  that,  if  Nancy  had  any  real  hold  on  Mark,  she 
would  find  it  greatly  increased  in  case  both  the  marriage 


EVERMORE.  191 

with  Roxy  ftiii  the  mission  to  Texas  were  given  up.  So  it 
happened,  through  the  planning  of  the  colonel,  that  the 
wedding  was  fixed  for  tli.>  second  week  following  the  raid 
of  Nancy. 

There  was  nothing  out  of  the  ordinary  about  Roxy's  wed 
ding.  There  were  present  her  aunt's  family  and  Twonnet's ; 
Miss  Rachel  Moore,  who  was  to  take  her  place  as  mistress 
of  the  house  the  next  week,  was  there,  of  course,  and  Col 
onel  Bonamy  and  his  daughters,  and  as  many  besides  as 
the  old  house  would  hold.  Adams  had  asked  Whittaker, 
but  the  minister  had  not  come.  Jemima  stood  in  the  back 
ground,  the  most  impressive  figure  of  all.  The  Methodist 
presiding  elder,  a  venerable,  white-haired  man,  familiarly 
called  "  Uncle  Jimmy  Jones,"  conducted  the  simple  ser 
vice. 

I  said  there  was  nothing  out  of  the  ordinary.  But  Bobo 
was  there.  For  days  he  had  watched  the  cake-baking  and 
the  other  preparations.  He  heard  somebody  say  that 
Roxy  was  to  be  married,  and  he  went  about  the  house 
conning  the  saying  like  a  lesson,  as  though  he  were  trying 
to  get  some  meaning  out  of  it. 

"  Roxy  is  going  to  be  married,"  he  would  say  over  and 
over,  from  morning  till  night.  When  he  saw  the  company 
gathering,  he  went  into  an  ecstasy  of  confused  excitement. 
And  when  at  last  Roxy  came  into  the  room,  in  her  simple 
bridal  dress,  he  broke  from  his  mother's  side  and  seized 
Roxy's  disengaged  hand.  Jemima  and  his  mother  made  an 
effort  to  recapture  him,  but  Roxy  turned  and  said,  a  Let 
him  come." 

"  Let  him  come,"  echoed  Bobo,  and  walking  by  the  side 
of  the  bride  and  her  bridegroom  till  they  halted  in  front 
of  the  minister,  he  looked  up  at  the  stately  old  man  and 
Baid  with  childish  glee,  "  Roxy's  going  to  be  married." 


198  ROXT. 

This  outburst  of  Bobo's  sent  the  color  of  Mrs.  Hanks'a 
face  up  to  scarlet.  What  would  the  Bonamys  think  ? 
Jemima  put  her  handkerchief  over  her  mouth  to  stifle  a 
laugh,  and  Amanda  Bonamy  turned  her  head.  Couldn't 
they  keep  the  simpleton  at  home  ?  The  old  minister  was 
confused  for  a  moment,  but  the  smile  on  Roxy's  face 
reassured  him.  The  lad  stood  still  listening  to  the  cere 
mony  and  repeating  it  over  in  an  inaudible  whisper. 
When  the  minister  concluded  the  benediction  with  the 
words  :  "  Be  with  you  evermore,"  Bobo  caught  at  the  last 
word  and  cried  :  "  evermore,  Roxy,  evermore  ! " 

"  Yes,  Bobo,  dear,"  said  the  bride,  turning  to  him  and 
looking  down  into  his  wistful  eyes.  "  Yes,  evermore  and 
evermore." 

Perhaps  because  they  were  embarrassed  by  this  unex 
pected  episode,  the  company  were  silent,  while  Bobo  for  a 
moment  turned  over  in  his  mind  the  word.  Then  by 
some  association  he  connected  it  with  the  last  words  of  the 
prayer  Hoxy  had  taught  him.  He  went  in  front  of  her 
and  looked  at  her  with  the  awed  look  he  had  caught  from 
her  in  repeating  his  prayer,  he  pointed  up  as  she  had 
pointed  in  teaching  him,  and  said  : 

"  Forever  and  ever,  amen." 

"  Yes,  Bobo,  forever  and  ever,  amen,  and  now  you  shall 
have  the  very  first  kiss." 

"  The  very  first  kiss,"  chuckled  the  innocent,  as  he 
turned  away  after  Roxy  had  kissed  him. 

Through  all  this  interruption  Adams  stood  by  the  long 
clock  and  held  on  to  the  lappel  of  his  coat  firmly  and  de 
fiantly.  He  had  a  notion  that  /he  Bonamys  thought  that 
their  family  lent  a  luster  to  Ruxy  and  he  wanted  to  knock 
some  of  them  over,  but  he  kept  firm  hold  of  his  coat  and 
contented  himself  with  looking  like  a  wild  beast  at  bay. 


EVtiRMOEE.  199 

Mrs.  Hanks  whispered  to  her  husband  that  she  felt  as 
if  she  could  sink  through  the  floor,  and,  indeed,  she  was 
quite  flustered  when  she  came  to  wish  the  newly  married 
"  much  joy,"  and  quite  thrown  out  of  the  tine  speech  she 
had  prepared  for  delivery  to  Mark.  Amanda  Bonamy 
kissed  Roxy  condescendingly  as  became  a  well-bred  girl ; 
but  when  it  came  to  Janet's  turn,  she  kissed  Roxy  first  on 
one  cheek  and  then  on  the  other,  called  her  a  dear,  dear 
sister  and  said : 

"  Wasn't  that  sweet  that  poor  little  Bobo  said?  It 
made  your  wedding  so  solemn  and  beautiful — just  like 
your  wedding  ought  to  be." 

And  from  that  moment  Roxy  took  the  enthusiastic  girl 
into  her  heart  of  hearts.  She  made  her  sit  by  her  at  the 
wedding  dinner  to  make  which  had  exhausted  all  the  skill 
of  Roxy  and  her  helpers,  and  the  whole  purse  of  her 
father.  For  the  custom  of  that  time  did  not  allow  of 
coffee  and  sandwiches  and  cake  passed  around  the  room. 
As  for  light  breakfasts  and  an  immediate  departure  on  a 
tour  to  nowhere  in  particular,  that  only  came  in  with 
locomotives  and  palace  cars.  In  the  good  old  days  it  cost 
as  much  to  get  married  as  it  does  now  to  be  buried  ;  one 
must  then  feed  one's  friends  on  fried  chickens  and  roast 
turkeys  and  all  sorts  of  pies,  and  pound  cake  and  "  float 
ing  island,"  and  "  peach  cobbler," — an  enormous  dish  of 
pastry  inclosing  whole  peaches,  pits  and  all — and  preserves 

with  cream,  and  grape  jellies,  and but  this  is  not  a 

bill  of  faro. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE   INFARE. 

THERE  could  be  no  wedding  in  a  Hoosier  village  thirty 
or  forty  years  ago  without  an  infare  on  the  following  dajr. 
In  those  days  the  faring  into  the  house  of  the  bride 
groom's  parents  was  observed  with  great  rejoicing.  At 
an  earlier  stage  of  the  village's  history  the  little  brass 
cannon  was  fired  in  honor  of  weddings  and  almost  the 
whole  town  kept  holiday.  On  the  day  after  Roxy's  wed 
ding  Colonel  Bonamy  made  a  great  infare  as  became  a 
great  man  like  himself.  It  was  preceded  by  a  week  of 
cooking  and  baking.  On  the  day  of  the  infare,  "  Uncle 
Billy,"  a  skillful  old  negro,  was  imported  from  Kentucky 
to  roast  the  pig  which  hung  suspended  by  a  wire  in  front 
of  the  wide  kitchen  fire-place,  while  Billy  turned  it  round 
,  and  round,  basting  it  from  time  to  time.  For  roast-pig 
-at  a  wedding  feast  was  the  symbol  of  aristocracy, — a 
!  Bonamy  might  lose  his  soul,  but  he  could  not  be  married 
without  a  pig. 

•f  Everybody  who  could  be  considered  at  all  invitable  was 
there.  The  Boones  and  Haz  Kirtley's  family  and  the 
fishermen's  families  and  the  poor-whiteys  generally  were 
left  out,  but  everybody  who  was  anybody  was  there.  Not 
only  from  town  but  from  the  country  and  even  from  the 
Kentucky  shore  guests  were  brought.  Neither  age  noi 
sex  was  respected.  Old  Mother  Tartrum  was  there  en 
gaged  in  her  diligent  search  after  knowledge.  She  was  in 


TSSJ  INFARE.  2  1 

herself  a  whole  Society  for  the  Collection  and  Diffusion 
of  Useless  Information.  She  also  collected  various  titbits 
of  cake  off  the  supper-table  which  she  wrapped  in  her  red 
silk  handkerchief  and  deposited  in  her  pocket.  She  was 
a  sort  of  animated  Dictionary  of  Universal  Biography  for 
the  town,  able  to  tell  a  hundred  unimportant  incidents  in 
the  life  of  any  person  in  the  place,  and  that  without  being 
consulted. 

Whittaker  had  sunk  into  a  helpless  despondency  as  the 
time  of  Roxy's  marriage  approached,  and  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  be  present  at  the  wedding.  But  fearing  unfriend 
ly  remark  he  had  brought  his  courage  to  the  point  of  attend 
ing  the  infare.  He  came  late,  however,  and  the  house 
and  ground  were  already  filled  with  guests.  He  -walked 
up  between  the  long  row  of  Lombardy  poplars,  looking 
at  the  brightly  illuminated  house  of  the  Bonamys,  which, 
lying  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  combined  in  itself 
something  of  the  spruceness  of  the  town-house  with  the 
isolation  of  a  farm-house.  The  house  was  a  squarish  brick 
one,  the  walks  were  of  gravel.  There  was  a  lawn  of 
greensward  on  either  hand  with  a  vineyard  and  fields  of 
tasseled  corn  in  the  moonlit  background.  People  were 
all  about  him  as  he  approached  the  house,  and  many 
greeted  him  as  he  passed.  But  Whittaker  was  a  man 
inarching  in  his  own  funeral  procession.  Despite  his 
utmost  exertion  to  address  Mark  and  Roxy  with  cheerful 
ness,  there  was  that  in  his  face  which  caused  Mark  to 
say  to  Roxy  as  he  turned  away  : 

"  What  a  ser,ous  looking  man  he  is  !  " 

And  his  seriousness  had  something  infectious  about  it, 
for  E-oxy  did  not  recover  a  bridal  cheerfulness  for  some 
time  afterward. 

Out  of  respect  for  Mark's  and  Roxy's  scruples,  and,  too, 
Q* 


202 

for  Mark's  semi-clerical  position  as  a  "  local "  or  lay 
preacher  on  his  way  to  a  farther  promotion  into  the 
"  traveling "  ministry,  there  was  no  dancing.  The  com 
pany  promenaded  in  the  halls  and  up  and  down  the  gravel 
walks  between  the  Lombardy  poplars,  and  among  the 
sprucely  trimmed  pyramidal  cedars  that  stood  about  the 
house. 

Something  in  Whittaker's  gloomy  mood  made  him 
averse  to  the  throng  of  merry  people,  the  more  that,  on 
account  of  the  rumors  which  had  circulated  about  his  at 
tachment  to  Roxy,  he  was  closely  watched.  About  ten 
o'clock  Mother  Tartrnm  met  him  and  put  him  through 
his  catechism  with  vigor.  Had  he  ever  been  engaged  to 
Roxy  ?  He  might  tell  an  old  woman  like  herself,  in  con 
fidence  !  How  was  it  broken  off  ?  Was  it  he  that  with 
drew,  or  did  Roxy  refuse  him  ?  Had  Mr.  Highbury 
given  him  a  piece  of  his  mind  I  Wasn't  he  feeling  rather 
bad  to-night  ? 

To  all  of  these  questions  the  minister  flatly  refused  to 
reply,  and  at  last  brusquely  walked  away,  turning  into  an 
unfrequented  path  bordered  by  privet  hedge.  This  led 
him  to  the  garden,  into  which  he  entered  by  a  gate 
through  a  paling  fence.  He  went  down  under  the  grape- 
arbor  that  stood,  according  to  the  unvarying  fashion  of 
the  country,  in  the  middle  of  the  garden.  Walking 
quietly  and  meditatively,  he  came  to  the  other  side  of, the 
garden,  where  he  turned  and  saw  full  before  him  the 
brilliantly  lighted  house,  and  the  company  moving  up  and 
down  the  walks  and  through  the  rooms.  He  could  plainly 
see  the  figure  of  E-oxy,  as  she  stood  by  her  husband, 
cheerful  now  and  diffusing  light  on  all  about  her.  Mark, 
for  his  part,  was  always  cheerful ;  theie  was  net  a  vein  of 
austerity  in  his  composition.  He  tvas  too  hopeful  to  tea? 


THE  INFARE.  203 

for  the  future,  and  too  buoyantly  happy  and  complacent 
to  be  disturbed  by  anything.  Certainly  he  was  a  fine- 
looking  man,  standing  there  in  the  light  of  a  multitude  of 
candles,  and  entering  with  his  limitless  heartiness  into  the 
nerriment  of  the  throng  about  him,  giving  back  banter 
for  banter  with  the  quick  sallies  of  the  racy  humor  of  the 
country.  But  there  was  something  about  this  popular 
young  fellow,  carrying  all  before  him,  which  gave  Whit- 
taker  a  sense  of  foreboding.  Does  a  rejected  lover  ever 
think  that  the  woman  has  done  quite  so  well  for  her  own 
interest  as  she  might  ? 

Fast  by  Eoxy  stood  Twonnet.  There  was  a  sort  of 
separation  of  feeling  between  them  now ;  but  Koxy  was 
soon  to  go  away,  and  Twonnet  determined  to  stand  by  her 
to  the  last.  If  she  had  looked  upon  the  marriage  as  the 
town  saw  it, — as  an  ascent  for  Roxy, — she  would  have 
chosen  to  be  elsewhere ;  but  because  Koxy  had  not  done 
as  well  as  she  might,  Twonnet  stood  by  her  with  a  chival 
rous  faithfulness.  Whittaker,  in  his  mood  of  unreason, 
took  Twonnet's  fidelity  to  Roxy  in  umbrage,  as  a  sort  of 
desertion  of  himself.  It  is  so  hard  for  us  to  understand 
why  our  friends  do  not  feel  our  wrongs  so  poignantly  as 
we  do. 

Whittaker  could  not  help  wondering  what  Adams  was 
thinking  of,  as  he  stood  defiantly  against  the  wall,  grasp 
ing  the  lappel  of  his  coat,  as  though  he  would  hold  firmly 
to  his  propriety  by  this  means. 

The  minister  had  stood  thus  more  than  a  minute,  when 
the  company  were  summoned  to  supper.  The  table  was 
spread  on  the  porch  which  ran  along  the  side  of  the  L  of 
the  house,  in  full  view  from  his  stand-point.  He  could 
see  the  fine-looking  bridegroom  lead  the  procession  to  the 
table,  and  all  the  company  following.  He  thought  thai 


204  ROXY. 

he  ought  t )  return  to  the  house,  lest  his  absence  should  be 
observed. 

But  just  as  he  was  about  to  make  a  languid  movement 
in  the  direction  of  the  supper,  he  heard  a  stealthy  tread 
on  the  outside  of  the  vine-covered  garden  fence.  He  lis 
tened  until  the  person  walking  along  the  fence  had  passed 
a  few  feet  further  on.  A  cluster  of  lilac-bushes  inter 
vened  between  him  and  the  position  of  the  new-comer ; 
but  he  could  hear  a  suppressed  voice,  as  of  a  woman  in 
soliloquy : 

"  That's  her,  shore  as  shootin*.  She  aint  purty,  neither, 
nor  never  was.  I'll  pay  her  up  !  See  ef  I  don't.  She 
thinks  she's  got  him  now.  An'  all  that  finery  and  flummery. 
I  ort  to  be  there  at  that  table.  Folks  would  see  somebody 
ef  I  was  there.  But  she's  ornery, — ornery  as  git  out.  I 
kin  git  him  away  from  her  ef  I  ever  git  half  a  chance. 
They'd  better  go  to  Texas  purty  shortly,  ef  she  knows 
what's  good  fer  her.  I'll  show  her.  Saltpeter  wont  save 
'em  ef  they  stay  here."  Then,  after  a  long  pause  ;  "  She'll 
wish  she  was  dead  afore  I'm  done.  Let  her  larn  to  steal 
my  beau.  Ef  she  packs  him  off  to  Texas,  I'll  foller,  sure. 
An'  I'll  pay  her  up,  or  my  name  haint  Nancy  Kirtley." 

To  "YVhittaker  the  whole  speech  was  evidently  the 
thinking  aloud  of  an  ignorant  person  full  of  suppressed 
passion.  The  tone  frightened  him,  and  he  moved  cau 
tiously  so  as  to  get  a  view  of  the  speaker.  Her  hair  was 
pushed  back  from  her  low  forehead  in  a  disheveled 
fashion,  and  even  in  the  moonlight  he  could  see  the  fine 
eyes  and  the  large,  regular  features,  and  could  feel  a 
certain  impression  of  the  great  animal  beauty  of  the  wo 
man  standing  there,  not  ten  feet  from  him,  with  fists 
clenched  hardv  and  a  look  of  ferocity  on  her  countenance 
that  he  had  never  seen  on  human  face  before.  .  She  re- 


THE  INFARK  205 

minded  him  of  nothing  so  much  as  of  an  old  steel-plate  print 
he  had  seen  of  Judith  with  the  bloody  head  of  llolof ernes. 
Having  no  knowledge  of  Nancy,  Whittaker  did  not  under 
stand  the  meaning  of  her  words  ;  but  he  could  make  out 
that  some  evil  was  intended  to  Roxy. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  call  Colonel  Bonamy.  Then  in 
his  confused  thought  came  a  pity  for  the  poor  girl  torn 
thus  by  her  evil  passions,  and  a  sense  of  his  duty  to  her  ; 
he  would  go  and  try  to  exorcise  the  demon. 

Nancy  had  come  to  town  resolved  to  prevent  Mark's 
marriage  at  any  cost*  She  would  show  the  watch-seal 
and  the  Testament  to  Roxy,  and  thus  awaken  her  jealousy 
if  she  could.  She  would  even  threaten  Mark  with  ex 
posure  of  some  sort,  or  with  slanderous  charges.  She 
would  not  be  outwitted  by  the  old  man  any  more,  she 
would  go  to  jail,  if  she  had  to  go  to  jail ;  but  she  would 
have  her  revenge.  Great  was  her  chagrin  at  finding  the 
wedding  already  past  and  the  infare  set  down  for  that 
very  evening.  There  was  nothing  left  for  her  but  to  fume 
and  threaten  retribution.  Her  rage  had  brought  her  here, 
— envy  and  malice  are  devils  that  drive  possessed  souls 
into  the  contemplation  of  that  which  aggravates  their 
madness. 

Nancy  st;od  thus  in  this  torturing  perdition  of  Tanta 
lus, — maddened  by  seeing  the  pomp  into  which  another 
poor  girl  had  come  instead  of  herself, — maddened  by  the 
very  sight  of  happy  faces  and  the  sound  of  merry  voices, 
while  she  was  in  the  outer  darkness  where  there  was  weep 
ing  and  gnashing  of  teeth.  She  stood  there  with  her  fist 
shut  up  and  her  face  distorted  by  wrath — as  a  lost  soul 
might  curse  the  far-away  heaven — when  she  heard  from 
the  bushes  behind  her  the  voice  of  Whittaker. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  my  friend  V     He  had 


206  ROXT. 

almost  said  Judith,  so  much  was  his  imagination  im 
pressed  by  the  resemblance  of  the  swarthy  beauty  to  the 
picture  of  that  magnificent  Hebrew  assassin. 

When  he  spoke  Nancy  gave  a  sudden  start,  not  of 
timidity,  but  of  wrath — as  a  wild  beast  might  start  at  an 
interruption  when  about  to  spring  upon  the  prey. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  me  \ "  she  muttered  in  sullen 
fierceness. 

Whittaker  drew  a  little  nearer  with  a  shudder. 

"  Only  to  help  you  if  I  can.     What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  I  reckon,  unless  you  kill  that  woman." 

"  What  woman  \ " 

"  That  Adams  girl  that's  gone  and  married  Mark 
Bonamy." 

"  What  should  I  kill  her  for  ?  " 

"  Bekase  I  hate  the  sights  of  her. 

"  What  harm  has  she  done  ?  " 

"  She  stole  my  bean.  Do  you  know  that  I  had  ort  by 
rights  to  stand  there  at  that  there  table  by  Mark  Bonamy, 
and  that  mean,  hateful  huzzy's  scronged  into  my  place — 
confound  her!  Now  then,  anybody  that  meddles  with 
Nance  Kirtley  is  sorry  fer  it  afore  they're  done.  Ef  Mark 
and  the  old  man  and  that  ugly,  good-fer-nothing',  prayin', 
shoutin'  Roxy  Adams  don't  wesh  they'd  never  hearn  tell 
of  me,  then  I'm  a  fool.  You  jest  let  anybody  cross  my 
path  onst  ef  they  want  to  be  sorry  fer  it." 

"  Don't  you  know  that  you  oughtn't  to  talk  that  way  ? 
Roxy  didn't  do  you  any  harm.  You  hadn't  any  right  to 
M&rk  because  you  loved  him." 

"  Stranger,  looky  there — that's  his  Testament.  He  gin 
me  that  weth  his  own  hands.  There  !  that's  his  watch 
seal.  Pulled  it  cff  and  gin  it  to  me.  Now,  what  rnadfl 
him  leave  me  and  go  to  that  homely,  lantern-jawed,  slab 


TEE  INFARE.  207 

sided  tiling  of  a  shoe-maker's  gal  ?  Hey  ?  She  done  it. 
That's  what  she  was  up  to  weth  her  pray  in'  and  talkin' 
and  singin'.  I'll  pay  her  up  yet.  See  ef  I  don't." 

At  sight  of  these  ocular  proofs  of  Mark's  attachment  to 
Nancy,  Whittaker  was  silent  a  moment. 

"Does  Roxy  know  anything  about  these  things 2"  he 
said  after  a  while. 

"  In  course  not." 

"  What  do  you  hate  her  for  ?  " 

"  What  fer  ?  Thunder  and  blazes !  Jes  look  at  the 
blamed,  stuck-up,  good-fer-nothin'  thing  there  !  She's  gol 
my  place — why  shouldn't  I  hate  her?  Ah-h-h  you — 
ngli-h-h,  you  ugly  old  thing  you — I'll  make  you  cry  miff 
afore  I'm  done  weth  you."  And  Nancy  shook  her  fist  in 
the  direction  of  Roxy. 

"  You  oughtn't  to  talk  in  that  way.  Don't  you  know 
.there's  a  God  ?  " 

"  God  or  no  God,  I'm  agoin'  to  git  even  weth  Mark 
Bonamy  and  that  hateful  wife  of  his'n.  Why  didn't  he  ax 
me  to  his  infare  ?  Hey  ?  Comes  to  my  house  and  dances 
with  me  the  livelong  night.  Gives  me  presents  and  talks 
as  sweet  as  sugar-water.*  Then  he  marries  old  Tom 
Adams's  girl  and  don't  ax  me  to  the  party,  nur  iiothin'. 
I'll  pay  him  back  one  of  these  yer  days." 

Seeing  that  further  remonstrance  was  of  no  use  Whit- 
taker  went  down  the  walk  to  the  house.  Colonel  Bonamy 
met  him. 

"  Why,  where  have  you  been?  We  looked  for  you  to 
say  grace,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  Colonel  Bonamy,  there's  an  infuriated  young  woman 
standing  behind  the  bushes  down  at  the  other  end  of  the 


*  The  sap  of  the  sugar-maple. 


208  ROXT. 

garden.  She  is  mad  about  something,  and  I'm  afraid  she 
means  some  violence  to  Roxy." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  guess  I  can  tell  who  she  is.  She's  a  maniac 
after  Mark.  I'll  go  and  see  her." 

And  while  Whittaker  went  in  to  supper  with  melan 
choly  suspicions  of  Mark,  the  colonel  walked  swiftly 
round  the  outside  of  the  garden  and  came  up  behind 
Nancy. 

"  Well,  what's  all  this  about  ?  " 

"  You  old  brute,  you,"  said  Nancy ;  "  why  didn't  you 
give  me  an  invite  2  I'll  pay  you  all  back  yet,  see  if  I 
don't ! " 

"Don't  talk  so  loud.  The  sheriff  might  hear  you. 
He's  in  the  house." 

"  Call  him  out  here  if  you  want  to,  you  blasted  fool," 
said  the  girl,  now  fully  roused,  and  not  fearing  any  danger 
that  looked  her  fair  in  the  face. 

The  colonel  saw  that  he  must  take  another  tack. 

"  Oh  no  !  I  won't  call  him.  Only  be  quiet,  and  'come 
in  and  get  some  supper.  I  want  to  ask  you  some  more 
questions  about  the  things  we  talked  about  the  other  day." 

"  No,  you  don't.  You  don't  ax  me  nothin'.  You  want 
to  wind  me  up  and  tangle  me  up,  tell  I  don't  know  my 
own  name.  No  more  of  yer  axin'  fer  me." 

"  You've  got  a  seal  of  my  son's  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have." 

"  Did  anybody  see  him  give  you  that  seal?  " 

"  No,  they  didn't," 

"  You  are  sure  \  " 

«  Yes." 

"Did  he  give  it  to  you?" 

"  In  course  he  did.     How  else  did  I  get  it  ?  " 

"  You  could  steal  it,  couldn't  you  ? " 


THE  INFARE.  209 

"  Yon — you — you  durn't  say  I'm  a  thief  !  " 

"Did  you  say  that  you  stole  it  ? " 

"  No,  I  didn't !     You  know  I  didn't,  blast  you !" 

"  You  said  nobody  saw  him  give  it  to  you,  and  I  didn't 
eay  you  stole  it.  But  you  just  as  good  as  say  you  did  by 
getting  so  mad." 

«  You  lie  ! " 

"  He  was  on  his  horse  when  you  got  it  from  him,  wasn't 
he?" 

"  None  of  your  axin,  I  tell  you." 

"  There  'tis  again.  You  know  you  stole  it,  or  you 
wouldn't  be  afraid  to  answer." 

"  You  lie !  He  give  it  to  me  when  he  was  a-settin*  on 
his  horse,  in  front  of  our  house." 

"  And  your  father  didn't  see  him  ? " 

«  No,  he  didn't" 

"  Nor  your  mother  3  " 

"  No." 

"Nor  nobody?" 

"  No." 

"  You  got  it  from  him  when  he  was  on  his  horse? " 

"  Yes." 

"  How  did  it  come  off  his  chain  ?  " 

"  He  unhooked  it." 

"  You  unhooked  it,  you  said  the  other  day.  Now  tell 
me  the  truth." 

"  Well,  he  let  me."  The  girl  began  to  quail  under  thia 
steady  fire  of  questions. 

"  You  say  you  got  it  from  him.  What's  that  but  steal 
ing?" 

"  He  give  it  to  me." 

"  You  unhooked  it." 

"  Go  'way  with  your  axin." 


210 

And  the  girl  started  to  move  off. 

"  Hold  on.     I'm  not  done  yet." 

"  Yes,  yon  air,  too.  I  wont  have  no  more  of  your  fool 
axin.  I'm  agoin'." 

"  Stop!  I  say.  You're  on  my  ground,  and  I'll  call  the 
sheriff,  if  you  don't  stop." 

"  Call  him  ef  you  want  to,  an'  go  to  thunder  with  you 
botli  ?  "  And  with  this  she  went  sullenly  off,  the  colonel 
affecting  to  detain  her.  Nancy  was  afraid  of  nothing  ID 
the  world  so  much  as  of  his  fire  of  questions,  and  the  irrita 
tion  and  mortification  sure  to  ensue  from  the  confusion 
into  which  he  would  lead  her. 

The  terror  which  the  questions  inspired,  added  to  the 
reaction  from  her  burst  of  passion,  served  to  give  her  a 
general  sense  of  fear,  that  drove  her  away  into  the  dark 
ness,  though  she  muttered  defiance  as  she  slowly  retreated 

into  the  corn-field. 

« 

"  They'll  be  sorry  they  ever  crossed  my  path,"  were  the 
last  ominous  words  the  colonel  heard  from  her,  as  he  lost 
sight  of  her  among  the  talt  "fr/ri  oi  t&ssele-d  maize. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

LOVE     AND     GRAMMAR. 

ON  the  day  following  Roxy's  inf are,  Mr.  Adams  toot 
Mr.  Whittaker  down  to  Miss  Rachel  Moore's  rooms,  and, 
in  defiance  of  all  the  customs  of  the  time,  was  married 
privately,  with  no  witnesses  but  Mark  and  Roxy.  Miss 
Moore  would  have  liked  a  little  more  of  ceremony,  a  few 
friends,  and  some  little  show.  But  when  Mr.  Adams  told 
her  that  people  of  their  age  would  better  be  married  with 
out  any  nonsense,  she  answered,  "  Very  likely,  very  likely, 
my  dear  Mr.  Adams !  che-he-he." 

On  the  night  of  the  infare  at  Bonamy's,  some  of  the 
young  fellows  who  were  not  invited,  showed  their  wit  by 
perpetrating  a  transposition — that  joke  that  is  as  old  as 
sign-boards  themselves.  No  doubt  in  Babylon  sign-boards 
were  changed  round  at  night  so  as  to  make  good  Assyriac 
puns  and  other  such  jokes. 

And  what  mischievous  boys  probably  did  in  Babylon  in 
B.  C.  1841,  that  they  certainly  did  in  Luzerne  in  A.  D. 
1841.  For  Mr.  Adams,  on  the  morning  on  which  he  was 
to  be  married,  found  over  his  shoe-shop  door  a  sign  which 
read,  "Miss  Moore,  Millinery  and  Mantua-maker,"  and 
Rachel  Moore  came  near  snickering  her  head  off  with 
mingled  shame  and  pleasure  to  find  "  T.  Adams,  Boot  and 
Shoe-maker,"  at  her  place  of  business.  It  was  character 
istic  of  Adams  that  he  let  the  signs  remain  as  they  were 
that  day.  Only  he  had  the  wedding  earlier  in  the  day 


212  ROXY. 

telling  Rachel  that  when  they  were  married  the  joke 
would  be  spoiled.  To  which  she  replied  that  she  thought 
it  very  likely  indeed.  At  any  rate  she  willingly  conspired 
to  spoil  the  joke. 

But  the  old  man  was  resolved  that  the  joke  should  go 
no  further.  Hearing  that  he  was  to  be  shivereed  that  night, 
according  to  the  usage  by  which  widowers,  and  old  maids, 
and  all  whose  weddings  are  eccentric,  are  serenaded  with 
skillet  lids,  and  "dumb-bulls,"  and  "horse-fiddles/'  and 
bells,  and  tin  pans,  he  put  a  stop  to  it  in  his  own  fashion. 
He  borrowed  a  double-barrel  shot-gun,  and  carried  it 
ostentatiously  down  the  main  street.  When  Tom  Pilman, 
the  rough  who  led  all  such  serenading  parties,  saw  him 
pass,  and  hailed  him  with  :  "  Hello,  Adams  !  What  you 
going  to  do  with  that  gun  ? "  he  made  answer,  "  We're 
going  to  have  a  serenade  at  our  house  to-night,  and  a  cor 
oner's  inquest  in  the  morning."  The  empty  gun  stood 
peacefully  in  a  corner  that  night,  and  there  was  no 
shiveree. 

Mrs.  Rachel  wanted  to  continue  her  business,  and  Adams 
gave  consent.  There  was  a  dignity  and  authority  about 
her  position  as  modiste,  which  she  did  not  like  to  surren 
der.  She  thought  she  would  rather  keep  "  help "  to  do 
the  work  at  home,  and  go  on  as  usual,  dealing  in  ribbons, 
and  bonnets,  and  general  intelligence.  Only  her  husband 
stipulated  that  her  sign  must  be  changed. 

"'  Millinery  and  Mantua-maker,"' he  said,  sneeringly. 
"  Why,  you  aren't  for  sale,  Rachel,  are  you  ?  " 

"  Very  likely,  Mr.  Adams,"  she  said,  in  a  blissful  and 
absent-minded  titter. 

"  Why,  JJachel,  you  must  have  lost  your  wits  I  " 

"  Very  likely.     Che-he-he  I" 

"  But  the  sign  must  be  changed  so  as  to  read  '  Milliner 


LOVE  AND  GRAMMAR.  213 

and  Mantua -maker.'  Don't  you  think  it  ought  to  be 
changed  ? " 

"  Yery  likely.  The  (  Miss '  ought  to  be  changed  to  f  Mrs.' 
now.  Che-he-he ! " 

Poor  Miss  Moore  had  dreamed  so  long  of  that  change. 

"That  would  make  you  Mrs.  Moore,"  said  Adams. 
"  Aren't  you  going  to  take  my  name  ? " 

"  Oh  yes !  I  forgot.  I'm  Mrs.  Adams.  It  seems  so 
strange  to  change  a  lady's  name — che-he — for  the  first  time, 
you  know.  Now  you're  used  to  it,  you  know.  Oh  !  I 
forgot — che-he-he — men  don't — che-he-he — change  their 
names,  do  they  ? " 

Adams  gave  up  making  her  understand  his  scruples  of 
grammar,  at  least  until  she  should  recover  from  the  idiocy 
of  her  honeymoon.  He  had  the  sign  changed,  however, 
and  Mrs.  Rachel  Adams  read  it  every  time  she  approached 
the  little  shop,  in  a  glad  endeavor  to  impress  it  on  her 
own  mind  that  her  reproach  among  women  was  taken 
away,  and  that  she  was  an  old  maid  no  longer,  but  on  a 
par  with  any  other  "  Mrs."  in  town. 

In  the  matter  of  finding  a  help,  Mr.  Adams  consulted 
Jemima,  whom  he  met  in  the  street.  Did  she  know  any 
body  that  he  could  get  ? 

"  Yes,  I  'low  I  do,"  she  answered. 

u  A  real  good-tempered  person  and  trustworthy  ? " 
,'u^ked  Adams. 

''  Awful  trustworthy,  and  crusty  enough  to  keep  you 
company  any  day,  Mr.  Adams." 

'-Weil,  who  is  it?"  said  the  shoe-maker.  "If  she'll 
only  quarrel  with  me,  I  don't  care.  I'd  like  a  little 
quarreling,  and  you  can  no  more  quarrel  with  EacheJ 
than,  you  can  with  sunshine  itself.  Who  is  it  that  you 
mean  \ " 


214:  ROXY. 

"  The  fust  letters  of  her  name's  Jemima  Dumbleton, 
aud  she's  got  a  powerful  dislike  to  the  male  sect  in  par 
ticular,  and  to  most  men  in  general." 

"  Would  you  leave  Henrietta  ? " 

"  I  rather  leave'r'n  not.  I  dislike  the  male  sect,  but 
Henrietta  I  dislike  on  her  own  particular  account.  She's 
too  good  for  me." 

Adams  was  pleased  to  get  Jemima,  and  immensely 
gratified  at  having  a  chance  to  defy  Mrs.  Hanks  at  the 
same  time.  Poor  subdued  Mrs.  Rachel  was  shocked.  To 
brave  Mrs.  Hanks  was  too  much.  But  Adams  told  her 
that  now  she  was  his  wife,  she  must  hold  up  her  head  and 
show  her  independence,  or  Henrietta  would  run  right 
over  her.  a  You're  a  married  woman  now,  Rachel,"  he 
concluded. 

At  which  Uach  il  smiled  audibly,  and  answered,  "  Yerj 
likely,  my  dear." 


CHAPTER  XXXL 

AN   ATTEMPT  TO   FORECLOSE. 

THE  little  teapot  of  Lnzerne  society  had  been  agitated 
during  the  two  weeks  of  preparation  for  the  marriage  by 
surmises  in  regard  to  the  ulterior  purpose  of  Colonel  Bon- 
amy  in  consenting  to  Mark's  wedding  Roxy,  and  even 
offering  him  help  conditioned  on  his  marriage.  To  pious 
people  it  seemed  a  special  interference  of  Providence  in 
favor  of  Texas.  But  not  so  to  the  sage  and  sagacious 
Lathers.  He  knew  nothing  about  Providence— he  felt 
distinctly  his  moral  inability  to  understand  God's  way  of 
doing  things,  though  if  he  thought  about  God  at  all  it  was 
doubtless  as  one  who  was  a  good  deal  shrewder  in  carrying 
his  selfish  ends  than  men  were  in  achieving  theirs.  To 
him  God  and  the  devil  were  playing  a  series  of  games, 
and  though  the  former  might  now  and  then  let  the  latter 
gain  a  few  points,  it  was  only  fcr  the  sake  of  making  the 
play  interesting,  and  of  finally  beating  the  devil  into  utter 
oankruptcy  and  locking  him  up  in  perdition  for  a  thousand 
years.  But  if  Lathers  could  not  see  through  the  ways  of 
Providence  so  well  as  some  of  his  townsmen,  he  thought 
he  did  know  something  about  Colonel  Bonamy. 

"I  say,  watch  out  fer  the  devil  when  he  is  playin' 
possum,"  said  Lathers.  "  But  what  the  dickens  Colonel 
Bonamy's  doin'  now,  I  can't  see.  Him  help  the  missionary 
work?  Not  him.  That  aint  his  side  of  the  question. 
Wait  till  you  see  this  game  out.  Wait  till  he  begins  to 


216  ROXY. 

play  the  aces  he's  got  up  his  sleeve.  Now,  liker'n  not  the 
old  man's  goin'  to  git  married  to  some  young  wife,  er  run 
fer  Congress,  and  he  wants  Mark  away  off  among  the 
Egyptians  in  the  land  of  Babylon,  an'  the  like.  I'm 
purty  good  at  guessin',  now, — I've  knowed  Colonel  Bon- 
amy  nigh  onto  twenty-four  year,  an'  he's  powerful  deep. 
Now  you  just  watch  out  fer  him,  will  you,  and  see  ef  he 
don't  do  sornethin'  like  1  say." 

But  Lathers  was  far  out  of  the  way.  Colonel  Bonarny 
began  to  urge  first  on  Mark  and  then  on  Roxy  that  they 
should  postpone  their  journey. 

"  Better  put  it  off  till  New  Year's.  It  isn't  safe  going 
to  that  climate  so  early,"  he  said. 

But  the  enthusiastic  Roxy  was  hard  to  manage.  Mark 
was  impatient  to  be  away,  as  any  active-minded  young 
man  is  impatient  to  set  out  upon  the  achievement  of  his 
purposes.  He  would  have  yielded  readily  enough,  however, 
notwithstanding  his  impatience ;  for,  since  his  father's 
management  of  Nancy,  he  felt  a  certain  confidence  in  the 
friendliness  of  his  purposes.  But  the  dire  danger  of  souls 
without  a  shepherd  oppressed  the  spirit  of  Roxy.  It  was 
pleasant  to  her  to  enjoy,  here  in  her  own  town,  the  devo 
tion  of  Mark,  the  fine-looking  young  husband  of  her  heart ; 
but,  because  it  was  pleasant,  the  austere  girl  was  eager  to 
surrender  it.  Perhaps,  too,  there  was  in  her  mind  some 
latent  dread  lest  an  easy  temper  like  Mark's  might  not 
hold  firmly  fixed  a  severe  resolution  not  immediately  put 
into  execution.  So  she  resisted  energetically,  and  with 
success,  the  influence  of  Colonel  Bonamy's  persuasions  on 
the  mind  of  Mark.  If  he  did  not  go  at  the  time  ap 
pointed,  Roxy  urged,  the  bishop  would  not  want  him  at 
all.  Indeed,  this  uncertainty  and  complexity  of  motive 
drove  the  straightforward  Roxy  into  an  irritable  energy 


AN  ATTEMPT  TO  FORECLOSE.  217 

of  temper  which  was  a  surprise  to  herself.  She  longed  to 
be  where  she  conld  act  again  directly  toward  a  definite 
ai  in. 

All  the  time  that  this  discussion  was  being  waged,  and 
Colonel  Bonamy  was  seeking  some  means  of  detaining 
Mark  without  a  point-blank  refusal  to  keep  his  agreement 
in  the  matter  of  furnishing  money,  Mark  was  supposed  to 
be  engaged  in  studies  preparatory  to  his  ministrations 
among  the  Texans.  Wesley's  "  Sermons,"  and  Watson's 
"  Institutes  of  Theology  "  were  especially  prescribed  ;  but 
to  a  man  of  Mark's  animal  spirits  and  glowing  feelings, 
the  clear-cut  and  severely  unrhetorical  sentences  of  Wesley 
seemed  uninteresting,  while  the  long-linked  reasoning 
of  Watson,  by  which  it  was  clearly  demonstrated  that  fore 
knowledge  was  not  fore-ordination,  even  where  God  himself 
was  the  foreknower,  was  decidedly  dry.  He  liked  better 
a  copy  of  Maffit's  '*  Sermons,"  then  fresh  from  the  press, 
and  full  of  far-resounding  bombast  about  the  stage-fixings 
of  the  day  of  judgment.  But  he  managed  to  get  on  in 
the  arduous  task  of  reading  Wesley  and  Watson,  by  dint 
of  reclining  laboriously  on  the  bed,  while  Koxy  sat  by  the 
window  and  read  to  him,  putting  something  of  the  fire 
of  her  own  enthusiasm  into  Wesley's  grave  and  sim 
ple  diction  and  changing  Watson's  abstruse  speculations 
almost  into  poetry  by  the  illumination  of  her  imagina 
tion. 

On  Sundays,  Mark  exercised  himself  in  preaching  in 
the  country  school-houses.  The  young  missionary  was 
quite  the  lion,  and  the  crowds  of  listening  people  that 
came  to  hear  him,  and,  above  all,  the  eyes  of  his  young 
wife,  stimulated  him  to  addresses  of  much  warmth.  They 
seemed  to  Mark  far  better  than  Wesley's. 

Meantime  Colonel  Bonamy  drew  the  reins  tighter  on 
10 


218  ROXY. 

his  sou.  Now  that  Mark  was  married,  he  could  not  go  to 
Texas  on  the  pittance  the  church  would  pay,  and  the 
father  had  some  difficulty  in  remembering  that  he  had 
made  any  definite  promise  in  the  matter.  At  most,  he 
could  not  raise  the  money  before  midwinter,  and  as  ha 
did  not  believe  in  their  going  to  the  South  until  January, 
he  was  not  going  to  hurry  himself.  People  who  were 
going  to  be  dependent  should  not  be  too  domineering 
about  it. 

Slowly,  as  the  old  colonel  began  to  hint  that  preaching 
in  Indiana  would  do  just  as  well,  Mark  perceived  his 
duplicity  ;  and,  by  degrees,  he  came  to  understand  that 
his  father  had  not  intended  to  have  him  go  to  Texas  at  all. 
No  man  of  Mark's  spirit  likes  to  be  managed,  and  when 
once  the  scheme  by  which  lie  had  been  encouraged  to 
marry  for  the  sake  of  keeping  him  at  home  dawned  upon 
him,  all  his  pride  and  combativeuess  were  carried  over  to 
Roxy's  side  of  the  question. 

"  I  -am  going  to  start  to  Texas  by  the  '  Duke  of  Or 
leans,'  "  he  said  one  day,  with  great  positlveness.  "  She 
will  leave  Cincinnati  about  the  middle  of  October." 

"  Well,"  said  the  old  man  in  a  whining  drawl,  under 
which  he  always  covered  any  expression  of  defiance — • 
"  Well,  if  you  go  in  the  middle  of  October,  instead  of 
waiting  until  the  time  I  have  set,  you  must  not  expect  me 
to  keep  you  from  starving.  You'll  have  too  look  out  for 
yourselves." 

"  That's  just  what  we've  made  up  our  minds  to,"  re 
joined  the  son.  "  If  we  can't  live  on  what  missionary 
money  we  are  to  have,  we  will  scratch  for  a  living,  like 
other  poor  emigrants." 

"  You  can't  pay  your  traveling  expenses  out  there,"  said 
the  old  man. 


AN  ATTEMPT  TO  FORECLOSE.  219 

"  By  se.ling  my  horse,  and  some  other  things,  I  can  get 
there." 

"  And  ride  afoot  when  you  get  there,  eh  ? " 

"  Well,  I'm  going.     That's  the  long  and  short  of  it." 

"  Well,  you  can  go  to  the  devil,  for  all  of  me,"  said  the 
old  man,  turning  sharply  away. 

Mark  was  resolved -not  to  be  the  dupe  of  his  father,  and 
Roxy,  for  her  part,  was  rather  pleased  with  the  prospect 
of  extreme  poverty  in  the  mission  work.  It  filled  her 
ideal.  Indeed  Colonel  Bonamy  was  in  every  way  disap 
pointed  in  Roxy.  She  did  not  seem  at  all  afraid  of  him, 
nor  in  the  least  conscious  that  she  had  married  above  her 
station,  and  she  showed  a  resistance  to  his  domineering 
will  that  was  beyond  anything  he  had  imagined  possible. 
His  interviews  in  private  with  his  daughter-in-law  were  a 
succession  of  defeats.  She  even  showed,  on  occasion,  a 
temper  that  seemed  to  him  quite  inconsistent. with  her 
general  saintliness. 

But  Colonel  Bonamy  had  not  yet  "  played  out  his 
game,"  as  he  phrased  it. 

"  Mark,"  he  began,  as  they  two  sat  together  in  the  office 
one  day,  "  you  never  asked  me  how  I  came  out  with  your 
Rocky  Fork  girl." 
;     "  She's  none  of  mine,"  said  Mark. 

"  She  shows  rather  strong  proofs  of  your  liking  for  her. 
You  don't  give  your  watch-seals  and  Testaments  to  every 
young  convert,  do  you  ?  Now,  if  Nancy  were  to  bring  a 
suit  for  breach  of  promise  of  marriage,  these  things  might 
play  the  deuce  with  you.  And  she  would  have  done  it  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  me.  I  kept  the  facts  out  of  Lathers's 
hands,  and  I  had  hard  work  to  keep  her  from  coming  in 
and  making  a  row  at  the  infare.  If  you  and  Mrs.  Roxy 
are  too  stubborn,  T  don't  know  but  that  I'd  better  just  let 


220  JROXT. 

things  take  their  course.  I  think  you'd  hai  dly  set  out  on 
a  mission  to  Texas  with  such  charges  against  you."  The 
old  man  emphasized  this  with  a  sinister  laugh,  very  pro 
voking  to  the  other. 

u  You'd  look  well,  setting  such  charges  a-going  against 
your  own  son,"  retorted  Mark,  reflecting  that  his  father's 
family  pride  was  protection  enough  from  the  execution  of 
that  threat. 

But  he  was  not  at  ease.  Secretly  he  feared  Nancy. 
Since  his  wedding,  he  had  twice  seen  her  at  a  distance  in 
Luzerne,  and  had  turned  out  of  his  way  to  keep  from 
meeting  her.  This  fear  of  Nancy  was  alone  enough  to 
determine  him  to  get  away  to  Texas  by  the  next  New 
Orleans  boat.  But  at  the  same  time,  he  dreaded  an  open 
break  with  his  father:  He  knew  the  old  man's  love  of 
mastery,  and  he  did  not  know  how  far  it  might  carry  him. 
He  no  longer  insisted  that  he  was  going,  whether  or  no. 
The  senior  was  lulled  into  security  by  his  silence,  believ 
ing  that  the  enemy  wavered,  and  that  he  should  yet  carry 
the  day.  And  as  days  went  by,  with  no  visible  prepara 
tions  for  his  son's  departure,  the  colonel  thought  that  he 
was  gaining  time  ;  and,  since  the  others  did  not  speak  of 
it,  he  treated  the  matter  as  though  it  were  tacitly  settled  as 
he  wished. 

But  Mark  had  secretly  sold  his  horse,  had  sent  word  by 
a  friend  to  the  captain  of  the  steamboat  "  Duke  of  Or 
leans,"  then  lying  at  Cincinnati,  asking  him  to  stop  at 
Luaerue  to  take  him  and  his  wife  aboard.  Koxy's  prep 
arations  were  all  made,  but  she  did  not  like  the  secrecy 
which  Mark  enjoined.  She  (ton Id  not  bear  to  do  right  as 
though  she  were  doing  wrong. 

As  the  time  approached  for  him  to  depart,  Mark  felt 
that  the  storm  would  be  all  the  more  severe  when  it  did 


AN  ATTEMPT  TO  FORECLOSE.  221 

burst  upon  him,  and  that  he  could  not  much  longer  keep 
the  matter  a  secret,  for  all  the  brethren  in  the  church 
wanted  to  know  about  it,  and  they  would  wish  to  hold  a 
fareweL  meeting  on  the  coming  Sunday.  But  he  was  re 
lieved  of  all  debate  on  the  way  in  which  he  should  com 
municate  the  matter  to  his  father,  by  the  accident  that 
Lathers  heard  of  the  sale  of  his  horse,  and  forthwith 
sauntered  into  Colonel  Bonamy's  office. 

"  Is  Mark  reelly  goin',  Colonel  ?  "  he  began. 

"  Do  you  think  he  is,  yourself  ?  "  retorted  the  old  man, 
with  a  sudden  suspicion  that  Lathers  knew  more  than  he 
did. 

"  I  don'  know  what  to  think,"  said  the  sheriff.  "  Some 
times  it  seems  like  as  ef  he  wuz,  and  then  ag'in  more  like 
as  ef  he  wuzn't." 

"  I'd  a  little  rather  he'd  stay,  Major,  but  I  suppose  he'll 
go,"  said  Bonamy,  affecting  indifference. 

"  Did  you  know  he'd  sold  his  hoss  and  saddle  ?  " 

This  was  a  thunder-clap  to  the  colonel,  but  he  did  not 
let  Lathers  see  the  inward  start  it  gave  him. 

"  I  believe  he  has  sold  several  things.  He  didn't  con 
sult  me,  and  I  haven't  asked  who  bought  it." 

"  Done  kind  o'  on  the  sly,  wuzn't  it  ?  " 

"  He's  a  fool  if  he  does  things  on  the  sly  from  mo. 
He'll  have  to  depend  on  me  when  he  gets  out  there." 

"  Well,  I  heerd  Ben  Plunkett  sayin'  that  he'd  bought, 
but  wuzn't  to  say  anything  about  it  tell  the  time  come. 
An'  1  thought  a  father  ought  to  know  what's  going  on  in 
his  own  family." 

•'  Oh,  well,  I  know  pretty  well,  Major,  how  the  land 
lies.  If  they  will  be  fools,  let  'eni.  It's  no  lookout  of 
mine." 

Lathers  left  the  office,  but  he  was  gratified  to  observe 


222 

from  the  next  street-corner,  on  which  he  had  taken  up  a 
stand  of  observation,  that  the  colonel  went  home  soon 
afterward. 

"  Mark  '11  ketch  it  now,"  he  chuckled,  all  his  innate  love 
of  mischief  being  tickled  by  the  consciousness  of  having 
exploded  a  mine  at  a  safe  distance  from  himself. 

Colonel  Bonamy  was  bitterly  disappointed  at  having  all 
his  ambitious  hopes  of  Mark  overturned,  and  doubly  cha 
grined  that  the  whole  village  had  now  guessed  out  his 
motive  in  consenting  to  Mark's  wedding  Tom  Adams's 
daughter.  In  conceding  so  much,  and  in  employing  all 
his  art  to  defeat  Nancy  Kirtley,  he  had  only  rendered  his 
own  humiliation  the  more  complete. 

He  found  Mark  and  Eoxy  in  their  own  room,  in 
the  midst  of  preparations  for  going,  and  poured  upon 
them,  for  half  an  hour,  the  fiercest  and  most  sarcastic 
things  he  could  say,  all  uttered  in  his  irritating,  whining 
drawl.  Mark  was  a  coward,  the  colonel  snarled.  He  had 
meant,  rf  they  must  go,  to  keep  his  promise.  But  a  man 
guilty  of  sneaking  disobedience  and  ingratitude  toward 
his  father,  wasn't  fit  to  be  a  missionary.  He  would  cor 
rupt  the  people  of  Texas.  It  was  in  vain  that  Eoxy  tried 
to  take  the  blame  upon  herself ;  the  colonel's  aristocratic 
gallantry  did  not  forsake  him  for  a  moment.  He  gently 
waved  her  aside,  and  continued  to  berate  Mark  ;  for  in 
deed  he  knew  well  that  a  wife  would  rather  be  scolde  I 
than  have  her  husband  denounced.  Mark  did  not  receive 
this  lecture  in  the  meekest  way.  Even  Roxy  could  not 
restrain  him,  and  he  replied  with  a  vehemence  that 
brought  both  the  sisters  into  the  room. 

Seeing  that  he  prevailed  nothing,  and  having  wrought 
himself  into  a  passion  that  put  diplomacy  out-of-doors, 
Colonel  Bonamy,  who  gave  himself  credit  for  his  dignified 


ATTEMPT  TO   FORECLOSE.  223 

forbearance  in  not  speaking  a  rude  word  to  his  daughter- 
in-law,  did  not  mind  saying  words — sometimes  with 
keener  edge  for  her  than  a  personal  insult  would  have 
had. 

"  It  was  of  much  use  that  I  interfered  to  keep  that 
Kirtley  girl  from  giving  you  trouble,"  he  said  to  Mark 
"She  would  have  stopped  your  wedding  if  I  had  let  her. 
Didn't  she  stand  out  behind  the  garden  and  storm  at  you 
and  Roxy  by  the  hour  on  the  night  of  the  infare,  and 
didn't  it  take  both  Whittaker  and  myself  to  quiet  her  ?  " 

Mark  turned  pale  at  this,  but  extreme  anger  generally 
puts  on  an  appearance  of  calmness. 

"  You  know  there  is  no  truth  in  what  she  says,  and  yet 
you  throw  out  innuendoes  here  in  the  presence  of  my  wife 
and  my  sisters.  We  will  leave  your  house  right  off,  sir, 
and  never  sleep  here  again." 

But  here  Janet  caught  hold  of  Mark,  and  then  of  her 
father,  and  then  of  Roxy,  and  begged  them  not  to  part  in 
that  way.  She  carried  her  tears  and  sobs  round,  and  they 
were  effectual.  For,  if  a  man  will  not  listen  to  a  crying 
woman's  entreaty  out  of  pity,  he  may  yet  yield  because  he 
hates  a  scene.  See,  for  example,  the  story  of  the  unjust 
judge. 

"Mark's  going  away  forever,"  pleaded  the  tender 
hearted  Janet.  "  Now,  don't  send  him  off  this  way.  Don't 
go  to-night,  Mark.  Please,  Roxy,  don't  you  let  him  go." 
And  then  she  stopped  and  sobbed  on  Roxy's  neck,  and 
Roxy  began  to  feel  that  her  burden  was  mca*e  than  she 
could  bear.  She  had  strengthened  herself  against  pov 
erty  and  barbarism  ;  but  what  are  poverty  and  barbarism 
to  scolding  men  and  crying  women  \ 

"  I  didn't  send  him,"  said  the  old  man.  "  It's  only  his 
way  of  treating  his  father."  Then,  softening  a  little,  he 


224  KOXY. 

said  :  "Come,  Mark,  don't  let's  quarrel  any  more.  Oi 
course  I  know  the  Kirtley  story  is  all  a  lie.  I  oughtn't  to 
have  mentioned  it,  bat  you  are  so  stubborn.  Don't  leave 
the  house  ;  it'll  make  trouble." 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  Colonel  Bonamy  went  out, 
reflecting,  with  considerable  satisfaction,  that,  go  where 
she  would,  Roxy  would  be  nettled  by  thoughts  of  Nancy 
Kirtley,  and  that  the  knowledge  that  Whittaker  had  heard 
Nancy's  story,  would  multiply  the  trouble.  The  more  he 
meditated  on  it,  the  more  did  he  think  his  allusion  to  the 
Kirtley  matter  a  master-stroke.  "  She'll  be  sorry  she  ever 
crossed  me,"  he  said. 

Still,  he  could  not  but  see  that  he  had  lost  ground  by 
his  passion.  He  had  set  all  his  son's  pride  and  anger  in 
favor  of  going,  and  he  had  given  the  stubborn  Roxy  new 
motives  for  seeking  a  mission  in  Texas  without  delay 


CHAPTER  XXXIL 

THE   OVERTHROW   OF   BOTH. 

THE  oldest  son  of  the  Bonamy  family,  the  namesake  of 
the  father,  had  "  turned  out  bad,"  as  the  village  phrase  ran. 
He  was  vicious  from  the  beginning.  Much  money  and 
many  beech  switches  were  wasted  in  vain  attempts  to  beat 
the  Latin  paradigms  into  him  against  his  inclination.  **He 
was  sent  away  to  boarding-school  after  a  while,  but  the 
education  he  got  there  only  made  matters  worse.  When 
at  last  Colonel  Bonamy  stopped  giving  him  money  in 
order  to  throw  him  on  his  own  resources,  he  preferred  to 
live  on  other  people's  resources,  and  so  became  a  gambler, 
in  New  Orleans,  the  Sodom  of  that  day  ;  after  shooting  a 
fellow-blackleg  in  an  affray  he  sailed  thence  to  Brazil  and 
was  never  afterward  heard  from.  The  second  son,  a  lad 
of  promise,  died  in  childhood.  It  would  be  hardly  fair 
to  say  that  all  the  old  man's  affection  had  centered  itself  in 
Mark.  All  his  family  pride  and  fierce  ambition  were  con 
centrated  in  the  boy.  He  rejoiced  to  discover  in  him  as 
he  grew  up  a  fine  force  and  fire  in  declamation,  which  was 
lacking  in  himself.  He  was  sure  that  with  his  own  knowl 
edge  of  law  and  his  shrewd  "  management  "  he  could,  by 
the  help  of  Mark's  eloquent  delivery,  maintain  his  ascend 
ency  at  the  bar  to  the  last,  and  bequeath  to  his  son  the 
property  and  the  distinction  of  the  family.  This  was  his 
whole  dream  of  immortality.  He  had  looked  on  Mark's 
Whiggery  as  rather  a  good  thing— both  parties  would  be 
10* 


226  EOX7. 

represented  in  the  firm.  He  was  rather  glad  of  his  snd- 
den  religions  turn  for  the  reason  assigned  in  Watts' s  hymn, 
that  it  would  save  him  "  from  a  thousand  snares,  to  mind 
religion  young."  When  he  got  old  he  could  take  care  of 
himself.  At  present  Colonel  Bonamy  thought  it  a  good 
thing  in  that  it  would  check  a  tendency  to  dissipation 
that  had  given  him  uneasiness.  He  had  thought  favor 
ably  of  Hoxy  in  turn  as  an  antidote  to  the  Texan  fever, 
and  as  one  likely  to  make  an  economical  wife,  and  restrain 
all  wrong  tendencies  in  her  husband.  For  Colonel  Bon 
amy  hated  all  sin  that  interfered  with  success  and  no  other. 
But  now  this  Texas  fool's-errand  was  a  rock  likely  to 
wreck  all  his  hopes  and  send  him  into  old  age  disappointed 
and  defeated. 

Is  it  any  wonder  that  during  the  last  week  before  the 
coming  of  the  "Duke  of  Orleans,"  every  sort  of  persua 
sion,  scolding,  contention,  persistent  worrying  and  con 
tinual  badgering  were  put  in  force  against  the  young  peo 
ple,  to  weary  them  out  of  their  purpose  ?  Offers  of  prop 
erty,  persuasions  by  Mrs.  Hanks,  coaxings  by  Janet, 
remonstrances  by  Mr.  Adams,  were  brought  to  the  front 
through  the  scheming  of  the  colonel.  But  in  vain.  Roxy 
would  not  disobey  the  heavenly  voice  for  any  entreaty ; 
and  Mark  also  good-naturedly  credited  himself  with  much 
martyr-like  endurance.  He  had  gone  too  far  to  yield  now. 
•Though,  indeed,  lying  lazily  there  in  the  quiet  coolness  of 
the  old  brick  house,  listening  to  the  rustle  of  the  poplar 
leaves,  hearing  the  old  long  c^ock  ticking  slowly  its  sixty 
beats  a  minute,  soothed  by  the  "  chook,  chook  ! "  of  the  red- 
bird  under  the  window,  and  the  distant  music  of  the  blue 
bird  on  the  fence-stakes,  flattered  by  /he  loving  devotion 
of  the  most  superb  woman  he  had  ever  known,  there  were 
times  when  he  wished  that  he  and  Roxy  might  give  over 


TEE  OVERTHROW 'OF  BOTH.  227 

the  hardness  of  Texas  and  remain  in  the  comfort  and  dig 
nity  that  surrounded  them.  He  might  even  have  pro 
posed  the  matter  tentatively  to  Eoxy  had  it  not  been  for 
a  fear  of  annoyance  from  Nancy  Kirtley.  He  was  young 
and  active  and  at  times  zealous.  Toil  and  hardship  he 
could  endure,  but  annoyance,  entanglement  and  perplexity 
were  grievous  to  him. 

As  for  Eoxy,  she  was  in  ever  deepening  trouble.  Her 
father's  scoldings  and  persuasions  disturbed,  her  aunt's 
preachment  angered  her.  She  could  not  look  at  Bobo, 
whose  education  must  now  be  arrested  entirely,  without 
the  bitterest  regret.  The  poor  fellow  seemed  to  have 
caught  some  vague  notion  of  the  impending  trouble,  from 
words  he  had  heard. 

"  What  will  Bobo  do  when  Roxy's  gone  2  "  she  heard 
him  repeat  dejectedly,  but  whether  he  fully  understood  a 
Baying  that  he  echoed  in  this  way  she  could  not  tell. 
Sometimes  a  sharp  pang  of  doubt  crossed  her  mind 
whether  it  were  her  duty  to  leave  the  little  garden  of 
Bobo's  mind  to  cultivate  an  unpromising  patch  in  the 
great  wilderness  of  heathendom.  But  then  the  thought 
of  soul-saving  perplexed  her  logic  as  it  has  that  of  many 
another.  Bobo  would  go  to  heaven  anyhow,  but  how 
about  the  people  in  Texas  ?  Then,  too,  there  was  Mark's 
ability,  of  which  she  more  and  more  felt  herself  the  keeper. 
She  must  not  thwart  his  great  destiny.  But  in  all  these 
perplexities  she  had  to  stand  alone.  She  could  not  sup 
port  herself  on  Mark ;  his  heroic  resolutions  leaned  more 
and  more  for  support  upon  her.  She  could  not  go  to 
Twonnet.  There  was  no  one  to  ask. 

Colonel  Bonamy  was  restrained  by  his  conventional 
gallantry  from  scolding  Eoxy,  but  no  gallantry  kept  him 
from  scolding  at  her.  And  no  gallantry  checked  the 


228  ROXY. 

innuendoes  of  Amanda,  who  held  Roxy  a  sort  of  intruder 
in  the  family.  But  Amanda  heartily  hoped  that  Mark 
would  take  himself  off  to  Texas  if  he  wanted  to  go.  She 
did  not  care  to  have  either  him  or  his  wife  at  home  to  inter 
fere  with  her  mastery  of  things.  And,  indeed,  the  haughti 
ness  of  Amanda  did  not  disturb  Roxy  so  much  as  the  tear 
ful  entreaties  of  Janet,  whom  she  loved  now  with  her 
whole  girl's  heart.  Janet  came  into  the  place  that  Twon- 
net  had  occupied.  She  had  so  taken  her  color  from  Roxy 
that  she  had  even  braved  her  sister's  scorn  in  making  an 
attempt  to  take  up  the  teaching  of  Bobo.  But  no  patience 
or  tact  less  than  Roxy's  could  effect  that. 

Along  with  Roxy's  other  troubles  she  found  herself  a 
prey  to  what  seemed  to  her  a  mean  feeling,  and  this  was 
v/  a  new  and  bitter  experience  for  one  struggling  to  lead  the 
highest  and  most  ideal  life.  She  was  unable  any  more 
to  think  of  that  dark  Kirtley  girl  with  composure.  It 
pained  her  to  recall  how  lustrous  were  her  black  eyes,  how 
magnificent  her  tout  ensemble.  What  truth  was  there 
behind  Colonel  Bonamy's  hints  ?  Had  Nancy  Kirtley  any 
claim  on  Mark  ?  Her  growing  knowledge  of  the  vain  and 
self-indulgent  element  in  her  husband's  disposition  did  not 
reassure  her.  The  only  feeling  in  her  heart  that  rivaled 
her  religious  devotion  was  her  passionate  love  for  Mark, 
and  in  proportion  to  her  love  was  her  desire  to  be  sure  of 
her  entire  possession.  Lurking  in  a  dark  corner  of  her 
mind  into  which  she  herself  was  afraid  and  ashamed  to 
look,  was  a  suspicion  that  served  as  a  spur  to  her  pious 
resolution  to  carry  the  Texas  mission  into  execution  at 
once. 

The  farewell  meeting  was  duly  appointed  to  be  held 
on  the  last  S  inday  that  Mark  was  to  be  in  Luzerne,  but 
on  Saturday  morning  Haz  Kirtley's  dray  rattled  up  in 


TEE  OVERTHROW  OF  BOTH.  229 

front  of  Colonel  Bonamy's  door.  The  drayman  called 
Mark  out  and  told  him  that  "the  w'arf -master  had  just 
heerd  from  the  i  Duke.'  She  laid  all  last  night  at  War 
saw  takin'  on  a  hundred  bar'ls  of  whisky,  and  would  be 
down  this  evenin'  about  four  o'clock  " 

So  the  farewell  meeting  must  be  given  up.  Haz  was  to 
call  for  the  boxes  and  trunks  at  two  o'clock  that  afternoon. 

As  for  Nancy,  she  was  not  capable  of  forming  any  plan 
for  detaining  Mark  except  that  of  trying  to  regain  her 
influence  over  him,  and  this  seemed  impossible  since  he 
steadily  avoided  meeting  her,  and  she  was  dreadfully 
afraid  on  her  part  of  a  collision  with  the  Colonel.  But 
when  at  last  she  heard  that  Mark  was  about  going  she 
determined  at  least  to  gratify  the  resentment  of  wounded 
vanity.  She  put  the  Testament  and  the  watch -seal  in  her 
pocket  and  took  her  stand  on  the  wharf-boat  at  noon. 
When  all  the  curiosity-seekers  and  all  the  church  members 
should  stand  around  to  tell  Brother  Bonamy  good-bye,  she 
would  make  her  speech,  exhibit  her  trophies  and  thus 
"  send  that  hateful  Adams  girl  away  with  the  biggest  kind 
of  a  bumble-bee  in  her  bonnet.'*  And  so  for  hours  ,she 
paced  up  and  down  the  wharf  waiting  for  the  arrival  of 
the  "Duke  of  Orleans." 

The  persistent  Colonel  Bonamy  had  not  shown  his  usual 
self-control  in  his  present  defeat.  Perhaps  this  was  because 
it  was  the  most  notable  and  exasperating  overthrow  he  had 
known  ;  perhaps  some  oncoming  nervous  weakness — some 
gradual  giving  way  of  brain  texture — in  a  man  of  sixty, 
whose  life  had  been  one  of  continual  strain  and  excitement, 
had  something  to  do  with  it.  At  any  rate  he  now  lost  all 
self-restraint ;  and,  what  was  the  more  remarkable,  even 
something  of  his  sense  of  conventional  propriety,  He 
stormed,  and  at  last  raved,  at  both  Mark  and  Boxy. 


230  JKOXY. 

"  Never  expect  me  to  help  you.  Never  expect  me  to 
write  to  you.  Never  come  back  here  again.  1  will  not 
have  anything  to  do  with  you.  You  are  no  son  of  mine. 
I  reiiouiice  you,  now  and  forever !  " 

(-  Oh,  please,  sir,"  said  Roxy,  "  please  don't  feel  that  way. 
We  are  only  trying  to  do  our  duty.  Mark  loves  you,  and 
I  love  you.  Please  forgive  us  for  giving  you  so " 

"  Begone ! "  She  had  taken  hold  of  his  arm  in  her 
earnestness,  and  he  now  shook  off  her  hand  as  though  it 
were  a  snake.  For  either  because  there  was  a  possibility 
of  feeling  on  his  part,  or  because  there  was  not,  Colonel 
Bonainy  could  not  endure  to  have  any  appeal  made  to  his 
emotions.  "  Begone  !  I  don't  want  to  see  or  hear  of  you 
again.  Get  out  of  the  house  at  once  1 " 

It  was  already  time  to  go.  Mr.  Adams  stood  gloomily  on 
the  wharf -boat,  waiting  to  see  his  Iphigenia  sacrificed.  He 
would  not  go  to  Bonamy's,  because  he  thought  the  family 
had  a  sense  of  condescension  toward  him.  Mrs.  Hanks  had 
taken  Bobo  to  the  river  to  see  Roxy  leave.  Jemima  was 
there.  So  was  Twonnet,  with  her  little  brothers  and  sis 
ters  ;  Adolphe  was  throwing  sticks  into  the  water,  in  order 
to  hear  Bobo  chuckle  at  seeing  these  tiny  rafts  float  away 
on  the  broad  current.  There  was  an  ever  increasing  crowd 
on  the  wharf  to  see  Mark  leave.  Mr.  Dale,  the  Methodist 
preacher,  and  the  chief  brethren  were  there  ;  and  Lathers 
stood  alongside  the  melancholy  and  abstracted  Mr.  Whit- 
taker,  explaining  to  that  gentleman  the  good  Presbyterian 
influences  under  which  he  had  been  reared,  and  how  his 
mother  had  raised  him  in  the  nursery  and  admonition  of 
the  Lord,  like  Mary  Ann,  the  mother  of  Moses,  and  the 
like,  you  know.  And  ever  as  the  crowd  increased  the 
Rocky  Fork  beauty,  with  that  precious  bumble-bee  in  her 
bead  which  bhe  meant  to  put  in  Koxy's  bonnet  when  the 


THE  OVERTHROW  OF  BOTH.  231 

time  came,  slunk  away  down  one  of  the  aisles  between  a 
row  of  bales  of  hay,  where,  half  hidden  in  the  obscurity, 
she  could  keep  a  good  watch  for  the  arrival  of  Mark  and  his 
wife.  And  several  people  in  the  crowd  busied  themselves 
with  suggesting  that  Colonel  Bonarny  would  not  come  to 
the  w'arf.  Grandma  Tartrum  had  been  seized  that  very 
day  with  an  attack  of  "  the  rheumatics,"  and  had  to  deny 
herself  the  fun  of  seeing  the  departure.  But  she  had  sent 
a  faithful  reporter  in  the  person  of  her  little  grandson, 
Zeb,  whose  natural  gift  for  eavesdropping  and  nosing  had 
been  much  sharpened  by  judicious  training. 

The  last  struggle  almost  overcame  even  Roxy's  con 
stancy.  What  right  had  a  son  to  tear  himself  away  from 
an  old  father  ?  It  was  a  hard  law  that  a  man  must  hate 
father  and  mother  for  the  Lord's  sake.  It  was  to  her  like 
performing  an  amputation.  All  her  strength  was  gone, 
and  there  was  yet  the  awful  parting  from  her  own  father, 
and  the  farewell  forever  to  Bobo  and  to  Twonnet,  in  store 
for  her.  She  hesitated.  Mark  was  not  so  much  affected ; 
he  was  accustomed  to  suspect  an  ulterior  aim  in  all  that 
his  father  did,  and  he  doubted  the  reality  of  his  anger. 
It  was  but  for  a  moment  that  the  heart  of  Roxy  faltered  ; 
then  the  duty  of  leaving  all  for  the  kingdom  of  heaven's 
sake,  the  Macedonian  cry  of  lost  souls  in  the  wilderness, 
the  loyalty  to  her  Christ-service,  all  came  back  to  fortify 
her  resolution.  Meantime  Colonel  Bonarny,  having  given 
rein  to  his  passion,  could  not  or  would  not  restrain  him 
self,  but  raved  like  a  man  demented. 

"  Tell  me  good-bye,  won't  you  ? "  pleaded  Roxy,  going 
up  to  him  at  the  very  last  moment,  with  the  assurance  of 
one  who  was  born  to  exert  an  influence  en  people. 

"  I  will  not !  Out  with  you  1 "  cried  Colonel  Bonarny 
in  a  hoarse  staccato. 


232 

Bidding  Amanda  and  Janet  farewell,  Roxy  turned  to 
Mark,  who  had  become  calmer  as  his  father  grew  more 
stormy.  Mark's  intellect  always  grew  clearer  and  his  will 
more  direct  in  a  time  of  trial.  With  perfect  quietness  he 
took  leave  of  his  sisters  and  started  out  the  door,  never  so 
much  as  looking  at  his  father.  The  carriage  had  been 
ordered  back  to  the  stable  by  the  wrathful  colonel,  and 
there  was  nothing  now  for  the  young  people  but  to  walk 
to  the  landing. 

"  Good-bye,  father  Bonamy,"  said  Roxy,  turning  her 
head  regretfully  toward  him  as  she  reached  the  door. 

The  old  man  turned.  Whether  he  meant  to  speak 
kindly  or  fiercely  Roxy  could  not  tell.  He  only  said 
"  Roxy  1 "  and  came  toward  her.  Mark,  knowing  his 
father's  pertinacity,  trembled  inwardly,  with  a  fear  of 
some  new  form  of  attack.  Would  the  old  man  say  more 
about  that  Kirtley  matter?  But  as  he  held  out  his  hand 
to  Roxy,  he  reeled.  Mark  ran  toward  him  too  late.  He 
fell  at  full  length  upon  the  floor,  unconscious.  Mark 
lifted  him  to  the  bed,  and  Roxy  stood  over  him,  with  a 
remorseful  feeling  that  she  had  somehow  struck  him  J'/-*  j 
herself, 


CHAPTER  XXXIIL 


THE 


AT  a  little  before  four  o'clock  the  "  Duke  of  Orleans  " 
came  around  the  head  of  the  island.  She  was  one  of  the 
typical  "  lower  country "  f>oats  of  that  day.  The  mail 
boats  were  built  light  of  draught,  and,  for  that  time,  swift 
of  speed ;  the  stern-wheelers  and  the  insignificant,  old- 
fashioned  "  chicken-thieves "  were  still  lighter.  But  the 
lower  country  boat  was  heavy  in  build,  deep  in  draught;, 
slow  in  the  revolution  of  her  wheels;  with  a  sturdy,  bull 
dog  look  when  seen  in  front,  and  an  elephantine  solem 
nity  of  motion  when  viewed  at  broadside,  the  wheels  seem 
ing  to  pause  at  each  semi-revolution.  The  lower  country 
boat  of  that  day  defied  all  time-tables.  She  started 
when  ever  she  was  ready,  and  she  stopped  as  often  and 
as  long  as  she  found  occasion.  The  arrival  of  a  New 
Orleans  boat  at  the  wharf  of  one  of  the  river  towns  at 
this  time  of  the  year  was  a  great  event.  It  was  only  in 
an  exceptional  season  that  there  was  water  enough  in  the 
channel  for  such  craft  above  the  -falls  of  the  Ohio  in 
October. 

Now  that  the  boat  had  actually  come  arouni  the  island, 
the  fact  that  Mark  and  Eoxy  were  not  anywhere  yet  to  be 
seen  was  a  great  disappointment  to  people  on  the  wharf. 
They  were,  perhaps,  to  be  cheated  out  of  their  spectacle  : 
they  would  not  see  Roxy's  tears,  nor  any  of  the  other  enter 
taining  things  they  had  a  right  to  expect.  Mr.  Adams 


234  BOXY. 

moved  testily  to  and  fro,  fearing  he  knew  not  what.  Twonnet 
strained  her  eyes  up  Ferry  street  in  vain ;  Granny  Tar- 
train's  boy,  Zeb,  was  exceedingly  active  in  the  effort  to 
find  out  what  it  all  stood  for  ;  and  the  wharf -master's  lit 
tle  brown  dog  dashed  about  in  a  way  that  showed  how 
keenly  he  also  felt  that  a  crisis  had  come,  and  that  some 
thing  ought  to  be  done.  The  "  Duke  "  approached  with 
majestic  tardiness,  her  captain  ringing  the  great  bell  on 
the  hurricane  deck  in  a  slow  and  imperious  fashion.  He 
rang  five  great  taps,  which  were  echoed  faintly  in  the  dis 
tant  hills.  If  he  had  stopped  at  three,  it  would  have  sig 
nified  that  he  intended  only  to  send  out  the  yawl  for  his 
passengers  ;  but  the  five  solemn  tolls  were  the  sign  of  a 
landing.  Then  the  boat  "  rounded  to," — brought  her  bow 
round  so  as  to  point  her  head  upward  against  the  stream. 
The  line  was  thrown  out  to  the  wharf-boat  and  caught  by 
the  wharf-master,  who,  with  Haz  Kirtley's  help,  quickly 
took  a  turn  with  it  round  the  check-post.  This  important 
operation  was  vigilantly  superintended  by  the  little  brown 
dog,  who,  with  tail  in  the  air,  ran  around  the  check-post 
till  the  line  was  made  fast,  and  then  dashed  away  to  attend 
to  the  running  out  of  the  "  walk-plank." 

Here  was  the  boat  and  here  the  baggage  ;  but  the  pas 
sengers  were  not.  But  now  came  galloping  down  the 
street  an  old  negro,  appendage  from  time  immemorial  of 
the  Bonamy  family,  who  rode  his  plow-horse  to  a  most 
unwonted  speed  as  he  sat  with  legs  projecting  forward 
and  outward,  holding  to  the  reins  of  his  bridle  with  one 
hand,  while  he  gripped  the  mane  with  the  other  to  keep 
himself  from  being  thrown  by  the  awkward  plunges  of 
the  stiff  old  animal.  This  spectacle  set  all  the  small  boys 
laughing  at  Uncle  Bob,  and  the  attention  of  the  crowd 
was  divided  between  the  negro  and  the  steamboat.  Hem- 


THE  "DUKE  OF  ORLEANS."  235 

ing  his  horse  in  the  very  edge  of  the  river,  the  old  man 
called  out : 

"  I  say,  dah  !     Is  de  doctah  on  boa'd  dah  ?  " 

The  doctor  was  soon  brought  to  the  front  cf  the  crowd 
on  the  wharf-boat. 

"  I  say,  dah  ?  Doctah  !  de  cunnel's  done  had  a  stroke, 
or  sumpin.  Tumbled  right  down  in  middle  ob  de  fk>'. 
Git  on  heah  and  go  quick.  Be  mighty  spry  now,  I  say, 
else  ye  won't  see  no  cunnel  when  ye  git  dah.  He  done  be 
dead  afo'  ye  git  dah." 

The  doctor  took  the  negro's  place,  and  the  horse  was  soon 
charging  back  again  through  the  town,  while  the  steam 
boat  captain  with  reluctance  pulled  in  his  line  and  left 
without  his  passengers.  The  crowd  felt  that  a  serious  ill 
ness  on  the  part  of  Colonel  Bonamy  repaid  them  but 
poorly  for  their  disappointment ;  but  they  fell  at  once  to 
making  the  most  of  it,  by  disputing  whether  it  was  Co;- 
onel  Bonamy  who  had  been  struck  by  Mark,  or  Mark  who 
had  been  struck  by  apoplexy.  Granny  Tartrum's  little 
boy  ran  home  breathless  to  tell  about  it ;  and,  rheumatics 
or  no  rheumatics,  the  old  lady  felt  herself  called  upon  to 
hobble  into  the  street  and  assail  the  passer-by  with  all 
sorts  of  questions  about  the  case.  Who  struck  whom  1 
What  was  it  ?  Was  he  likely  to  live  ? 

As  the  facts  came  to  be  known  with  clearness,  some 
folks  thought  it  a  sin  and  a  shame  for  a  son  to  dis 
obey  his  father,  and  be  the  death  of  him-  in  that  way. 
Pretty  Christian  he  was,  wasn't  he,  to  be  sure,  now,  for 
certain. 

Some  of  the  more  lugubrious  were  sure  that  it  was  a  judg 
ment.  Wasn't  Uzzah  slain  for  putting  his  hand  upon  the 
ark  of  God  ?  Didn't  Ananias  and  Sapphira  die  for  lying  ? 
Colonel  Bonainy'd  learn  not  to  oppose  God,  and  it  was 


236  ROXY. 

good  for  him,  and  served  him  right  besides,  and  was  no 
more  than  he  deserved,  over  and  above. 

Nancy  went  home,  carrying  the  bumble-bee  with  her, 
but  vowing  she'd  pay 'em  up.  She  somehow  looked  upon 
Colonel  Bonamy's  stroke  as  one  of  the  means  taken  to 
defeat  her  by  the  family.  But  she'd  pay  'em  up,  yet. 
Give  her  half  a  chance,  and  she'd  git  Mark  away  from 
that  Adams  girl.  Roxy  Adams  wasn't  no  great  shakes, 
that  all  the  town  should  turn  out  to  see  her  off,  now.  It 
might  better  have  been  herself  than  Eoxy.  She  wouldn't 
have  minded  going  to  Texas  with  Mark. 

And  Whittaker,  who  had  observed  Nancy's  curious  be 
havior  on  the  wharf -boat,  went  home,  putting  this  and 
that  together,  troubling  himself  with  forebodings  about 
Roxy's  future,  and  with  griefs  about  his  own  disappoint 
ment,  and  with  questionings  whether  he  had  done  quite 
right  or  not.  He,  at  least,  had  a  bumble-bee  in  his  head, 
for  he  walk  3d  the  floor  of  the  upper  porch  half  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

A  MONITOR   IN   MASK. 

THE  next  day  after  the  passage  of  the  "  Duke  of  Or 
leans"  being  Sunday,  Mother  Tartrura  contrived  to  keep 
rhe  most  conflicting  rumors  a-going  in  regard  to  the  con 
dition  of  Colonel  Bonamy.  She  stood  at  the  gate  all  day, 
hailing  the  negro  messenger,  the  doctor  going,  the  doctor 
returning,  and  everybody  else,  in  turn,  hearing  where 
they  had  information,  or  thought  they  had,  arid  telling  her 
latest,  where  they  had  none. 

On  Monday  morning  Whittaker  rose,  after  a  sleepless 
night,  and  thought  it  his  duty  to  call  at  Colonel  Bonamy's, 
and  inquire  after  his  health.  If,  perchance,  he  were  dead 
of  apoplexy,  the  minister  could  condole  with  the  family, 
and  if  he  were  better,  he  might  sympathize  with  the 
patient.  Anyhow,  he  would  have  a  chance  to  speak  with 
Mark  about  his  plans  of  life,  and  he  might  happen  to 
meet — say  Amanda,  or  Janet,  or — or  well,  yes,  but  that 
was  not  to  be  desired  at  all ;  though  he  might,  by  some 
sti.-mge  accident,  see  Itoxy  herself.  He  did  not  admit  to 
himself  that  the  dull  agony  that  had  kept  him  awake  the 
livelong  night,  promised  to  be  quieted  a  little,  if  that  he 
could  but  look  into  the  face  of  Koxy,  and  hear  her  voice. 

It  was  Koxy  whom  he  met  at  the  door,  and  who  was 
startled  at  the  wan  look  of  his  face.  She  asked  him  to  sit 
on  the  ?ine-covered  front  porch,  and  she  told  him,  in 
answer  to  his  enquiries,  that  Colonel  Bonamy  was  lying 


238  ROX7. 

quietly  asleep  in  his  room  at  the  right ;  that  he  had  had 
a  stroke  of  paralysis  from  apoplexy ;  that  his  right  side 
was  quite  powerless,  but  they  hoped  he  would  recover. 
She  was  dressed  in  a  fresh  calico,  and  her  exertions  for 
the  sick  man  had  brought  back  a  little  of  the  wonted  look 
of  peace,  benevolence,  and  hopefulness  to  her  face.  When 
she  could  act  in  the  direction  natural  to  her,  she  was  happy 
— when  her  energetic  spirit  was  thwarted,  it  became  an 
energetic  temper ;  and  the  conflict  between  her  irri 
tability  and  her  conscience  produced  the  most  morbid  fit- 
fulness  of  disposition.  But  now  she  could  act  with 
certainty  and  in  straight  lines  again. 

"  You  will  not  go  to  Texas  yet  ?  "  said  Mr.  Whittaker. 

"We  do  not  know  anything  about  the  future.  Our 
duty  is  very  plain  for  the  present."  And  Roxy  put  an 
emphasis  on  the  last  words  that  expressed  her  content  at 
present  release  from  the  complexities  of  her  life  since  her 
marriage. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Whittaker,"  said  Janet.  "  Papa 
is  awake  now,  and  we  can't  understand  what  he  wants. 
Roxy,  you'll  have  to  come.  He  says  he  wants  *  Holy,'  or 
something  of  the  sort." 

With  a  hasty  "excuse  me,"  and  a  "good  morning," 
Roxy  disappeared  through  the  hall  into  the  room  of  the 
sick  man. 

"  Poor  pappy ! "  said  Janet,  adhering  to  the  older 
speech  of  the  country  in  saying  "  pappy,"  "  he  is  unable 
to  speak  plain,  and  he  forgets  the  names  of  things.  But 
Roxy  guesses  \vhat  he  wants,  and  he  wont  have  anybody 
about  him  but  her.  I  suppose  he  meant  her  when  he 
said  '  Roly '  just  now.  He  calls  me  '^Tim.'  But  the 
doctor  thinks  he'll  get  well.  If  he  does,  it  will  be  from 
Jtoxy's  nursing." 


A  MONITOR  IN  MASK.  239 

Mr.  Whittaker  rose  to  depart,  but  just  then  Mark  came 
out,  and  the  two  walked  down  between  the  Lombard  ies 
together.  They  were  a  fair  contrast — Whittaker's  straight 
form,  rather  light  complexion,  studious  and  scrupulous 
look,  with  Mark's  well-nourished  figure,  waving  black  j 
hair,  and  face  that  betokened  a  dangerous  love  of  ease  and* 
pleasure.  He  told  Whittaker  that  this  stroke  of  his 
father's  would  perhaps  do  away  entirely  with  the  project 
of  going  to  Texas.  He  would  have  to  take  charge  of  his 
father's  business  until  his  recovery. 

"  You  will  probably  enter  the  ministry  here  in  Indiana 
then  ? "  said  Whittaker. 

u  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do." 

Whittaker  thought  he  saw  that  Mark's  plans  were 
already  turning  to  other  things.  For,  indeed,  Mark  felt 
that  now  he  was  relieved  from  any  committal  to  the 
public  or  to  Roxy  in  the  matter  of  ministerial  work,  he 
would  rather  enter  upon  the  tempting  field  of  activity 
opened  up  by  the  passing  into  his  hands  of  his  father's 
business. 

The  sight  of  Roxy  had  been  a  pleasure  to  Whittaker, 
but  five  minutes  in  the  sunshine  only  makes  a  coal-pit 
the  blacker.  He  went  home,  thinking  that,  after  all, 
paralysis  of  the  body  was  better  than  his  own  paralysis  of 
heart  and  purpose.  But  to  shake  off  his  lethargy  was  a 
difficult  thing.  His  congregation  was  small,  and  did  not 
occupy  his  time.  His  efforts  at  study  were  vague  and 
vain.  He  had  been  fond  of  dabbling  in  language-study, 
but  even  his  love  of  languages  had  died  within  him, 
and  he  turned  the  leaves  of  Ms  dictionaries  and  thought 
of  Roxy,  and  dreamed  of  might-have-beens  without  num 
ber. 

On  the  afternoon  of  this  same  day,  he  sat  with  bis  heat1 


240  ROX7. 

leaning  out  of  the  window.  There  was  a  copy  of  Bossuet's 
"  Oraisons  Funebres  "  by  his  side,  but  even  that  funeste 
reading  could  not  attract  his  attention.  He  had  too  real 
a  sense  of  the  fact  that  life  was  indeed  ne'ant,  neant,  to 
care  for  Bossuet's  pompous  parade  of  its  magnificent  noth 
ingness.  For  Bossuet  manages  to  make  nothingness  seem 
to  be  something  grand  and  substantial — even  royal.  One 
would  be  willing  to  be  a  king,  for  the  sake  of  feeling  this 
sublime  nothingness  and  vanity  that  he  describes  so 
picturesquely. 

Whittaker  was  leaning  thus  out  of  the  window,  and 
dreamily  gazing  at  the  pale  green  sycamores  that  will 
grow  nowhere  but  fast  by  the  rivers  of  waters,  when 
there  lighted  on  his  head,  with  a  sudden  blow,  a  paper 
ball.  He  started,  looked  upward.  There  was  nothing  to 
be  seen  but  the  garret  window  in  the  gable  above.  But 
he  had  hardly  looked  away  before  another  ball  descended 
upon  him.  He  knew  very  well  what  sprite  had  thrown 
them.  lie  looked  away  again,  this  time  with  a  smile ; 
then  turning  his  eyes  upward,  he  caught  the  third  paper 
missile  full  on  his  nose,  and  got  sight  of  the  mischief- 
full  face  of  Twonnet,  just  as  it  was  disappearing,  with  a 
sharp  little  cry  of  "  Oh  !  "  at  seeing  where  the  ball  had 
struck. 

"  You  are  caught,"  he  said,  and  then  the  blushing  face 
re-appeared,  looking  exceedingly  sweet,  draped  as  it  was 
by  long  curls  hanging  forward  as  she  leaned  out  of  the 
window,  like  Dante  Rossetti's  "  Blessed  Demozel "  look 
ing  out  of  heaven. 

•'•  I  wouldn't  have  done  it,"  she  said,  "  but  you  look 
BO  like  a  funeral  to-day.  I  don't  like  to  iee  you  that 
way." 

" How  can  I  help  it,  Twonnet?  " 


A  MONITOR  Itf  MASK.  241 

Her  face  was  serious  for  a  moment.     Then  she  laughed. 

"  To  think  that  you  would  ask  advice  of  such  a  giddy 
rattle-pate  as  me.  Everybody  knows  that  I'm  only  a  mis 
chievous  little  fool  with  a  shallow  head,  and  besides  I'm 
only  a  child,  as  you  know.  "  See  here ! "  She  held  a 
doll  out  of  the  window.  "  I've  never  quite  given  up  doll- 
babies  yet.  I  keep  this  old  thing  hid  away  in  this  end  of 
the  garret  where  nobody  else  ever  comes,  and  I  slip  up 
here  sometimes  and  play  with  it  till  I  feel  like  a  goose, 
and  then  I  go  down-stairs  and  try  to  be  a  woman.  I  wish 
I  had  sense  enough  and  I  would  give  you  some  advice. 

"  You've  got  more  sense  than  you  pretend  to  have.  It 
might  have  been  better  for  two  or  three  people  if  I'd  fol 
lowed  your  advice  and  not  Highbury's,  before.  If  you 
wont  hit  me  with  any  more  paper  balls  I'd  listen  to 
anything  you  say.  Some  things  are  revealed  to— little 
children." 

"  There,  you  call  me  a  babe !  That's  worse  than  all. 
Now  the  advice  I  have  to  give  is  serious  and  I'm  not  ready 
yet.  You  ought  to  hear  it  from  some  one  older  than  I 
am."  And  she  withdrew  her  head. 

Whittaker  wondered  what  she  meant.  Was  she  waiting 
to  frame  into  words  what  she  had  to  say  ?  Or,  was  she 
trying  to  get  courage  to  say  what  she  thought?  Or,  was 
she  making  game  of  him  as  she  had  of  Highbury  ? 

In  a  minute  there  appeared  at  the  garret  window  the 
face  of  an  old  woman  in  frilled  white  cap  and  spectacles 
and  a  red  neckerchief.  The  face  seemed  wrinkled  and 
the  voice  was  quivering  and  cracked.  The  words  were 
uttered  slowly  and  solemnly  and  with  a  pronunciation  a 
little  broken  with  a  French  accent. 

"  You   must  not  think  about  her  now.      It  is   very 
bad.     It  will  do  harm  to  everybody.     Get  to  work  and 
11 


242  ItOXY. 

put  far  away  these  evil  thoughts  and  wishes  that  can 
do  no  crood.  She  is  his  and  you  must  not  think  about 
her." 

The  head  had  disappeared  before  Whittaker  Could 
realize  that  it  was  but  Twonnet  in  masquerade.  He  felt 
\exed  that  she  had  guessed  the  secret  of  his  thoughts. 
Then  he  was  lost  in  wonder  at  the  keen  penetration  and 
deep  seriousness  hi  Jden  under  this  volatile  exterior.  And 
he  was  annoyed  that  she  had  ventured  to  rebuke  him,  a 
minister,  and  to  imply  that  he  was  likely  to  go  wrong. 
Then  he  honestly  tried  to  see  the  truth  of  what  she  -said. 
At  any  rate  he  resolved  to  think  no  more  of  Roxy. 

But  when  the  human  mind  gets  down  hub-deep  into  a 
rut  of  thinking,  it  is  hard  to  lift  it  out.  He  could  not 
study,  or  walk,  or  talk,  without  this  numb  paralysis  of 
wishing  and  thinking  creeping  over  him.  It  was  in  vain 
that  he  studied  the  tables  of  Italian  definitions  hung 
about  his  room.  He  could  not  remember  them.  He  pre 
ferred  reading  Petrarch's  sonnets  to  Lady  Laura,  which  he 
had  forbidden  himself.  This  struggle  went  on  for  two 
days.  Twonnet  did  not  take  any  notice  of  it.  She 
laughed  and  sang  French  rondeaux  and  English  songs, 
aiid  gamboled  with  the  children,  and  chatted  in  super 
ficial  fashion  with  Mr.  Whittaker,  and  scolded  at  things 
about  the  house  that  went  wrong,  until  he  was  more  than 
ever  puzzled  by  this  doublcness.  He  could  not  explain 
it,  ''and  he  contented  himself  with  calling  her  in  his 
thoughts  "  that  witch  of  a  girl."  He  would  have  been  yet 
more  perplexed  had  he  known  that  after  her  merriest 
laughter  and  her  wildest  frolics  with  the  children,  and  her 
most  bubbling  and  provoking  banter,  she  would  now  and 
then  elude  the  little  sister  "  Teet  "  in  some  dark  corner 
and  escape  to  the  garret  where  she  could  have  a  good 


A  MONITOR  IN  MASK.  24S 

cry  under  the  rafters.  Then  she  would  take  up  the  old 
doll  and  caress  it,  saying,  as  the  tears  slowly  dropped 
upon  it : 

"  Nobody  cares  for  me.  Everybody  loves  Roxy  because 
she  is  good.  But  nobody  loves  Twonnet — poor,  wild, 
foolish,  empty-headed  Twonnet.  Nobody  loves  me  but 
you,  old  dolly." 

And  all  this  in  the  teeth  and  eyes  of  the  fact  that  Dan 
Barlow,  the  newly  arrived  young  lawyer,  had  walked 
home  with  her  from  church  the  Sunday  evening  before, 
8*ld  that  more  than  one  other  would  have  offered  her  com 
pany  at  any  time  if  there  had  not  been  a  sly  twinkle  in 
her  eyes  that  made  them  afraid  of  Twonnet's  ridicule. 
But  she  cried  in  this  inconsistent  fashion  and  declared 
that  nobody  loved  her.  And  five  minutes  after  she  would 
be  dashing  about  the  house,  broom  in  hand,  singing  in  a 
wild,  reckless,  cat-bird-like  cheerfulness : 

"  Every  lassie  has  her  laddie, 

Ne'er  a  ane  hae  I." 

• 

But  beneath  all  this  mirth  and  banter  of  the  girl,  Whit 
taker  knew  now  that  there  lay  the  deep  seriousness  of  the 
woman.  How  deep  and  serious  her  nature  might  be  he 
could  not  tell.  Conscience,  shrewdness,  courage — these 
he  had  seen.  What  else  was  there?  At  any  rate  he 
knew  that  Twonnet  was  expecting  something  of  him. 
The  vivacious,  incomprehensible  Swiss  prattler  had  become 
a  monitor  to  the  grave  minister,  all  the  more  efficient  that 
she  said  ro  more  than  enough.  So  it  came  to  pass  that 
the  soul  of  the  man  awoke  and  said  to  himself :  "  Whit- 
taker,  you  are  bad.  You  are  thinking  and  dreaming 
about  another  man's  wife  and  what  might  have  been. 


244  ROXT. 

This  is  a  good  way  to  £e  worthless  or  wicked.  You  must 
get  to  work." 

And  after  a  good  lecture  to  himself  he  said  to  Twonnet : 

"  I  am  going  to  start  a  school." 

"  That's  good  ;  I  will  go.  But  I  am  a  dull  scholar.  I 
hate  arithmetic  and  all  my  teachers  hate  me." 

That  was  all  the  response  he  got. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

BACKSLIDLNGS. 

As  the  days  grew  shorter  and  the  night  frosts  began  to 
give  tone  to  the  atmosphere,  Colonel  Bonamy  gradually 
improved  in  strength  under  the  care  of  Roxy.  He  was 
very  lame  and  walked  with  difficulty,  leaning  on  the  arm 
of  his  daughter-in-law.  They  would  go  down  between  the 
Lombardy  poplars,  through  the  front  gate,  across  the  open 
commons  to  the  river-bank,  where  he  would  stare  awhile 
in  vacant  fashion  on  the  broad  water  and  then  petulantly 
demand  to  be  taken  back  to  the  house.  His  faculties  were 
evidently  weakened ;  when  he  wanted  his  hat  he  would 
demand  his  boots,  and  he  called  his  watch  his  knife. 
Nouns,  proper  and  common,  were  hopelessly  mixed  in  his 
mind ;  he  almost  never  called  anything  by  the  right  name, 
though  he  seemed  generally  to  keep  some  sort  of  hold  of 
the  initial  sounds.  By  some  kind  of  quick  sympathy 
Roxy  was  able  to  guess  at  his  meaning  and  he  always 
preferred  to  have  her  with  him. 

Amanda  held  toward  her  sister-in-law  an  air  of  patron 
izing  toleration.  Colonel  Bonamy  liked  Roxy,  in  a  selfish 
way,  as  the  best  nurse  of  all ;  but  he  could  not  endure 
that  she  should  give  Bobo  a  part  of  her  kindness.  So  for 
the  most  part  she  taught  the  lad  in  another  room  for  a 
short  half -hour  each  day,  getting  scolded  by  her  father-in- 
law  on  her  return. 

"  Now,  Roly,  I  know  what  you've  been  doing,"  he  would 


246  ROXY. 

Bay,  with  a  querulous  paralytic  lisp.     "  You've  been  trying 
to  teach  little  Bubble  Ham.     But  you  can't  teach  him 
He  wont  learn  a  shingle  liver.     No  blubbers  in  his  head 
Give  me  a  goggle  of  fresh  wash;  I'm  thirsty.     Don't  go 
away  again." 

But  Roxy's  chief  trouble  was  not  Amanda  nor  the 
colonel,  but  Mark.  For,  sisters-in-law  and  fathers-in-law 
and  mothers-in-law,  despite  all  stale  jokes  about  them, 
chiefly  trouble  a  body  as  the  ailments  of  somebody  else  do 
— through  the  sympathies.  Heal  troubles  are  nearer  of 
kin.  More  and  more  Koxy  saw  Mark  drifting  utterly 
away  from  all  the  missionary  enthusiasms  that  gave  sig 
nificance  to  life  in  her  eyes.  At  first  this  showed  itself 
only  in  a  total  absorption  in  the  large  law  business  which 
had  suddenly  fallen  into  his  hands.  He  knew  that  the 
eyes  of  court,  clients  and  lawyers  were  on  him,  questioning 
whether  he  would  or  could  take  his  father's  place, 
should  the  senior  remain  disabled.  He  knew  that  the 
public  was  wondering  whether  he  or  the  energetic  and 
able  Dan  Barlow,  who  had  lately  come  down  from  the 
eastern  end  of  the  county,  would  lead  the  bar.  The  pur- 
1  suits  in  which  he  now  engaged  were  more  congenial  to  his 
\  nature  than  preaching,  and  he  took  them  up  again  with 
eagerness.  Law  business  gave  a  delightful  play  to  his  active 
mental  faculties  ;  the  conflict  of  the  court-room  stirred  his 
j  combativeness,  and  victory  pleased  his  ambitious  vanity. 

He  threw  himself  with  fiery  impetuosity  into  the  half- 
prepared  cases  of  his  father,  and  carried  them  through  to 
Biiccess  ;  he  more  than  held  his  own  against  young  Barlow, 
and  new  business  began  to  come  to  him  freely.  He  was 
not  a  man  to  be  insensible  to  this  sudden  opening  of  a 
prospect  of  wealth  aud  reputation. 

Luther  might  not  have  been  an  iconoclast  if  he  had  not 


BACKSLID1NGS.  247 

begun  by  being  a  monk ;  and  Mark  might  have  reached 
an  average  piety,  if  ke  had  not  striven  for  more.  He  had 
been  held  by  external  influences  at  a  pitch  of  self-sacrifice 
foreign  to  his  temper,  and  the  reaction  was  rapid  and 
dangerous.  In  three  weeks  after  the  Texas  mission  was 
given  up,  Koxy  could  see  that  all  thinking  and  talking 
about  religious  matters  grew  irksome  to  him.  He  declined 
all  requests  to  preach  on  the  ground  that  he  was  over 
worked,  and  it  was  evident  that  even  his  license  to  preach 
would  soon  become  hateful. 

Those  who  had  before  admired  his  zeal  lamented  his 
backsliding.  The  severe  ordeal  of  the  Methodist  confes 
sional  he  shrunk  from.  He  might  have  talked  platitudes 
in  class-meeting ;  but  hypocrisy  of  that  sort  he  did  not 
like,  and  so  he  stayed  away,  consulting  his  own  comfort  in 
this,  as  he  did  in  everything.  When  he  went  to  church 
he  did  not  sit  any  more  among  the  great  lights  in  the 
amen  corner,  but  drifted  gradually  back  until  he  found  a 
seat  aft  the  box-stove,  which  held  a  central  place  in  the 
church,  and  was  a  sort  of  landmark  dividing  the  sheep 
from  the  goats.  On  many  Sundays  he  was  so  tired  that 
he  would  not  go  to  church  at  all ;  he  wanted  to  rest  and 
keep  his  father  company  in  the  absence  of  Iloxy.  But, 
for  the  most  part  on  such  occasions,  he  walked  up  and 
down  in  the  warmish  winter  sunshine,  and  in  colder 
weather  watched  the  grinding  cakes  of  floating  ice  in  the 
river,  while  he  planned  his  business.  When  Roxy  was 
well  out  of  sight,  he  even  wrote  a  little  now  and  then  on 
unfinished  pleadings.  The  thoughtful  Amanda  generally 
contrived  to  let  Hoxy  know  that  Mark  had  been  writing 
—such  interest  do  we  take  in  another's  happiness. 

Koxy  was  surprised  at  finding  that  marriage  had  not] 
increased,  but  lessened  her  influence  over  Mark,     A  wife 


248 

is  something  so  different  from  a  sweetheart !  There  is  no 
poetic  halo  about  a  wife ;  she  is  one  of  the  commonest  of 
commonplaces,  like  one  of  those  every-day  forces  of  nature 
to  which  one  submits  when  one  pleases  or  when  one  must, 
but  which  one  never  scruples  to  evade  when  one  wishes  to 
and  can !  \  The  interest  of  a  sweetheart  in  your  welfare  is 
something  flattering ;  your  wife's  interest  is  a  matter  of 
course,— an  interest  ex  officio.  It  is  an  act  of  the  highest 
grace  to  yield  to  the  entreaty  of  a  sweetheart ;  the  be 
seeching  of  a  wife  seems  more  like  a  behest ;  it  is  to  be 
resisted,  according  to  the  maxim  that  vigilance  is  the 
lowest  market  price  of  liberty. 

Mark  respected  Roxy's  enthusiasm.  But  he  was  tired 
of  the  strain  on  his  easy  disposition.  He  could  not  live  at 
a  moral  concert-pitch,  and  every  attempt  to  bring  him 
back  to  the  old  way  of  feeling  and  thinking  only  irritated 
him,  and  deepened  his  resolution'  to  brook  no  further  re 
straint.  He  was  not  sure  that  he  did  not  owe  himself 
certain  compensations  for  what  he  had  suffered  in  the 
past. 

The  prospect  of  his  soon  inheriting  his  father's  property 
had  increased  his  importance  in  the  town,  and  the  state 
of  being  important  is  not  disagreeable  to  the  self-love  of 
any  man.  Mark's  old  visions  of  political  ascendency 
again  dominated  over  him,  and  he  bent  all  his  energies  to 
satisfy  his  ambition.  He  was  young,  and  full  of  vigorous 
life,  rich,  as  the  country  went, — popular,  and  with  a  great 
capacity  for  enjoyment.  It  is  easy  for  such  a  man  not  to 
be  religious,  it  is  hard  for  such  a  man  to  be  religious  after 
the  fashion  of  thirty  years  ago. 

To  add  to  the  embarrassment  of  Roxy's  situation,  her 
sensitive  father  would  not  cross  the  Bonamy  threshold,  and 
it  was  not  often  that  she  could  get  away  to  see  him,  and 


BACKSL1DINGS.  249 

then  it  was  only  to  take  a  scolding  for  her  folly  in  "  wear 
ing  herself  out "  with  taking  care  of  Colonel  Bonamy,  and 
teaching  Bobo.  "  An  imbecile  and  an  idiot !  "  Adama 
thundered. 

Mark  was  often  absent,  while  attending  to  business  on 
other  parts  of  the  judicial  circuit,  and  Roxy  felt,  with 
terror,  when  he  returned,  how  far  away,  the  one  from  the 
other,  they  were  drifting.  Mark's  pleasure-loving  disposi 
tion  had  revived  with  increased  power  since  L:s  long  self- 
restraint.  He  was  the  leader  of  every  party  in  wit  and 
buoyant  spirits,  and  to  be  leader  was  to  be  happy.  He 
was  happier  away  from  home,  where  he  was  petted  and 
admired,  than  he  was  at  home,  where  he  was  under  con 
demnation. 

Roxy's  temper  did  not  stand  the  strain  very  well.  Hera 
was  a  character  noble  in  the  direction  of  action,  and  self- 
sacrifice  for  an  object.  But  the  higher  nobility  of  patient 
endurance  of  suffering,  inevitable  and  apparently  iiseless, 
she  had  not  yet  learned.  Against  Mark's  neglect  of  ho>r 
advice,  his  carelessness  for  her  society,  and  the  general 
disappointment  and  inactivity  of  her  life,  she  rebelled 
bitterly.  Only  a  high-spirited  woman  can  undertake  such 
a  life  as  Roxy  proposed,  and  no  high-mettled  woman  can 
brook  neglect.  She  had  too  much  elevation  to  enjoy  the 
only  life  that  offered  itself  to  her.  She  had  not  yet,  at 
least,  elevation  enough  to  accept  with  peace  and  patience 
what  she  could  not  avoid.  A  young  person  full  of  energy 
is  apt  to  beat  against  the  impenetrable  and  insurmounta 
ble  walls  of  fate.  After  awhile,  one  learns  that  this  beat 
ing  wound )  the  one  who  beats  and  flutters,  but  affects  not 
a  jot  the  wall.  Then  the  imprisoned  yields,  it  may  be 
with  a  cheerful  make-the-best-of-it,  it  may  be  with  a  sullen 
and  sulky  despair,  it  may  be  with  querulous  and  hopelesi 
11* 


250  ROXT. 

longing.  Eoxy  had  yet  to  find  out  that  she  could  not  beat 
down  the  wall. 

The  opportunities  for  Mark's  ambition  came  to  him 
rapidly.  The  death  of  the  member  for  Lnzerne  County 
left  a  vacancy  in  the  legislature;  a  new  election  was 
ordered,  and  the  Whigs,  seeing  a  chance  to  seize  once 
more  a  representation  which  they  had  not  held  since  Mark's 
previous  election,  nominated  him  again  for  the  place. 
The  canvass  was  short  and  vigorous,  and  Mark  won  the 
election.  He  was  just  two  weeks  in  the  legislature, —  a 
leader  in  all  the  boisterous  fun  that  members  of  the  legis 
lature  find  so  necessary  for  recreation.  Until  this  time, 
Mark  had  so  far  preserved  his  Methodism  that  he  did  not 
drink  spirits  or  gamble ;  but  when  he  came  back,  Roxy 
felt  sure  that  this  line  also  had  been  passed. 

A  collision  of  some  kind  with  the  severe  discipline  of 
the  old-fashioned  Methodism  was  not  to  be  avoided  by 
any  one  taking  Mark's  road.  His  prominence  would  only 
serve  to  insure  his  not  being  overlooked.  -  Roxy  awaited 
this  inevitable  collision  with  hope  and  fear.  It  might 
startle  Mark  into  some  kind  of  recoil  from  the  downward 
tendency  of  his  present  course  of  greedy  ambition  and 
lazy  self-indulgence  ;  but  it  might  break  all  the  restraints 
that  held  him.  For  the  moral  restraints  of  habit  are  but 
so  many  lines  at  which  one  stops — with  every  line  oblit 
erated  there  are  the  fewer  checks  in  the  way  of  the  im 
petuous  man.  Unhappily,  the  first  collision  was  on  one 
of  those  restrictions  so  often  insisted  upon  -by  religionists, 
with  a  stress  in  inverse  ratio  to  their  importance.  Mark 
went  to  a  circus.  A  man  in  that  time  might  be  a  miser, 
he  might  be  dishonest  in  a  mild  way,  he  might  be  censori 
ous  and  a  backbiter  from  a  pious  stand-point,  he  might 
put  the  biggest  apples  on  the  top  of  the  barrel  or  the  little 


BACKSLIDING8.  251 

potatoes  in  the  bottom  of  the  bag,  and  the  church  could 
not  reach  him.  But  let  him  once  see  a  man  ride  on  two 
bare-back  horses,  and  jump  through  a  hoop  1  That  was  a 
tangible  apostasy,  sure  to  bring  ecclesiastical  penalties. 

Brave  old  ironside  forefathers  !  Blessings  on  you  for 
chopping  Charles  Stuart's  head  off,  and  planting  Plymouth 
Kock  I  You  freed  us  from  the  Middle  Ages  ;  for  which 
thanks  But  you  straightway  bound  upon  us  your  own 
severe  prejudices,  and  they  have  come  down  to  us  by  all 
hands.  The  most  dominant  influence  in  this  English- 
speaking  world  of  ours  to-day,  is  not  that  of  Shakspere, 
but  of  the  men  who  hated  him  and  his  play-house.  The 
Puritan  preachers,  the  brave  cobblers  and  tinkers,  whom 
the  seventeenth  century  stuck  in  the  stocks  and  prison- 
houses,  and  the  fervent  Wesleyan  village  blacksmiths  and 
Yorkshire  farmers  of  the  eighteenth  century  are  yet 
masters  of  the  nineteenth.  To  this  day  we  take  our  most 
innocent  amusements  in  a  guilty  and  apologetic  fashion, 
bowing  to  the  venerable  prejudice,  and  saying:  "By  your 
leave,  sir." 

Mark  was  called  before  the  church,  with  other  like 
offenders.  His  pride  was  wounded,  and  he  would  fain 
have  thrown  up  his  membership,  but  that  he  could  not 
quite  resist  the  entreaties  of  E-oxy.  As  it  was,  he  sur 
rendered  his  license  to  preach,  and  expressed  his  sorrow 
that  he  had  offended,  and  solemnly  promised  not  to  go  to 
a  circus  again  ;  not  a  hard  promise,  surely. 

But  though  Mark  had  apologized,  he  was  new  entirely 
estranged  from  the  influences  of  the  church.  For  disci 
pline  may  save  the  credit  of  the  church,  at  the  expense  of 
destroying  the  offender.  It  seems  never  to  have  occurred 
to  people  that  it  is  sometimes  the  business  of  a  church  to 
Buffer,  the  just  for  the  unjust. 


CHAPTER    XXXYI. 

AN   IMPROPER   FRACTION. 

IT  was  in  October  that  Whittaker  took  his  resolution  to 
start  a  school.  He  got  consent  of  Mr.  Highbury  and  the 
other  trustees  to  use  the  church.  With  a  true  Yankee 
ingenuity,  he  hinged  a  writing  shelf  to  the  back  of  each 
pew,  so  that  it  could  be  dropped  down  out  of  the  way  in 
church  time.  He  introduced  the  improved  methods  of 
teaching  of  that  day,  to  the  great  surprise  of  those  who  had 
never  seen  anything  but  the  barbarous  school  discipline 
of  the  beech-switch  pedagogues.  He  could  teach  Latin 
and  algebra,  and  a  schoolmaster  who  knew  these  wonder 
ful  things  was  indeed  a  Solomon.  All  the  country  had 
heard  that  Whittaker  knew  nearly  all  the  languages  of  the 
earth  except  the  red  Indian.  This  last  Mother  Tartrum 
assured  people  he  did  not  know.  She  had  met  him  on  the 
street,  and  asked  him  point-blank.  And  he  had  to  confess 
that  he  couldn't  read  and  write  Indian.  So  that  excep 
tion  was  admitted. 

In  a  country  town,  no  young  woman  not  married,  and 
no  man  not  settled  in  business  for  himself,  is  too  great  to  go 
to  school.  Nearly  all  the  grown-up  young  people  availed 
themselves  of  the  setting  up  of  this  school  to  "finish" 
their  education,  hitherto  much  broken  by  the  intermittent 
nature  of  the  old  district  schools,  which  taught  the  three 
R's  only  so  long  as  there  was  school-money  to  be  had. 
Twonnet  was  enrolled  among  Whittaker's  scholars,  and 


AN  IMPROPER  FRACTION.  253 

Janet  Bonamy,  who  had  heretofore  been  sent  to  Kentucky 
so  school,  now  concluded  to  get  a  little  more  knowledge. 

Twoimet  Lefaure  was  a  sort  of  leader  of  the  school  in 
good-natured  mischief.  She  was  vivacious  and  witty,  hi 
talk  and  laughter  like  Tennyson's  brook,  going  en  forever, 
but  she  could  not  get  her  lessons.  Whittaker  was  sur 
prised  to  find  that  the  Swiss,  who  in  business  were  the 
abler  and  generally  the  richer  people  of  the  town,  who,  as 
far  as  affairs  went,  were  quick  and  penetrating,  were  yet 
slow  in  taking  knowledge  from  teacher  and  text-books.  It 
was  .in  school  hours  that  the  Americans  were  superior. 

Twonnet  tried  to  study.  She  even  cried  over  her  "  sums" 
in  vulgar  fractions,  but  crying  did  no  good.  Common 
denominators  and  common  multiples,  multiplications  and 
divisions  of  compound  and  complex  fractions,  swam  in  her 
head  in  a  general  confusion,  and  Kirkham's  rules  about 
nominative  cases  governing  verbs,  and  prepositions  govern 
ing  objective  cases  were  quite  unintelligible. 

"  How  do  you  reduce  an  improper  fraction  ? "  the 
Veacher  asked  her  one  afternoon  in  the  arithmetic  recita 
tion. 

She  drew  her  mouth  down,  wrinkled  her  forehead,  con 
centrated  her  wandering  thoughts,  and  replied,  with  ahit- 
or-miss  desperateness :  "  Multiply  the  greatest  common 
denominator  of  the  integer  by  the  least  common  divisor — 
no  multiple — of  the  whole  number,  and  write  the  remainder 
for  the  numerator  of  the  mixed  number." 

"  Twonnet !  "  said  the  master,  and  he  looked  at  her 
etcrnly,  while  the  class  laughed.  He  could  hardly  bear 
to  rebuke  her.  There  was  something  so  inexpressibly 
refreshing  in  her  mobile  face  and  quick  bright  eyes.  But 
there  must  be  no  partiality.  "  Twonnet !  You  are  uot 
wanting  in  intelligence.  You  can  learn  if  you  will  If 


254 

you  had  spent  the  tirhe  in  studying  that  you  spent  in 
spelling  on  your  fingers  across  the  room,  you  would  have 
been  able  to  answer  my  question.  Go  to  your  seat  now, 
and  say  this  rule  after  school.  I  shall  expect  you  to 
understand  it." 

Poor  T  won  net,  of  all  things,  could  not  help  wishing  to 
Btand  well  with  Whittaker.  She  pouted,  and  went  to  her 
seat.  She  read  over  and  over  a  page  of  Ray's  arithmetic 
about  improper  fractions,  without  understanding  its  ab 
stractions.  Janet  Bonamy,  who  sat  next  to  her,  surrepti 
tiously  gave  her  all  kinds  of  hints,  but  Janet's  comments  did 
not  help  the  matter  at  all.  When  at  last  the  gloaming  of 
the  snowy  winter's  eve  began  to  mellow  the  light  on  the 
white  walls  of  the  church,  and  Whittaker  had  sent  away 
the  school,  he  found  himself  alone  with  Twonnet.  He  was 
not  prepared  for  this.  He  had  expected  to  have  other  cul 
prits,  in  whose  presence  he  could  scold  Twonnet.  But 
there  she  sat,  drawn  near  to  a  window  for  light,  looking 
poutingly  at  the  incomprehensible  words  about  improper 
fractions  and  mixed  numbers. 

Whittaker  sat  still  a  moment  at  his  desk  after  all  had 
gone  and  the  door  was  closed.  He  could  not  quite  sum 
mon  courage  to  speak  to  her  as  justice  demanded.  In 
awkward  embarrassment  he  Krose  from  his  place,  walked 
to  the  stove,  poked  the  fire  a  little,  then  turned  back  again 
to  his  desk,  all  the  time  watching  furtively  the  pouting 
face  of  his  pupil. 

a  Twonnet,"  he  said  presently,  with  great  gentleness, 
"you'd  better  bring  your  book  here.  I  think  I  can  make 
you  understand/' 

"  I  don't  understand  it,  and  I  can't !  "  she  said,  vehe 
mently,  as  she  threw  the  book  down  on  his  desk. 

"  Fm  sorry,"  said  Whifctaker,  with  kindness,  and  the 


AN  IMPROPER  FRACTION.  255 

tones  of  his  voice  made  Twonnet  cry,  in  spite  of  herself. 
"  Sit  here  by  the  window." 

Whittaker,  in  an  abstract  way,  had  a  contempt  for  peo 
ple  who  could  not  learn  easily,  but  he  could  not  feel  so 
toward  this  girl.  She  had  shown  herself  his  superior  in 
other  things.  And  besides,  he  found  her  presence  here  in 
the  snowy  evening  like  a  benediction.  He  went  over  the 
explanation  two  or  three  times.  Somehow  he  was  not  in 
a  hurry. 

"  It's  of  no  use,"  lamented  Twonnet,  "  I  can't  under 
stand  anything.  I  haven't  any  head,"  and  she  shook  her 
brown  curls  about  her  face  and  looked  out  the  window.* 

It  was  not  considered  proper  for  a  teacher  to  praise  a 
fcnipil  in  those  days.  But  her  evident  distress  touched  the 
.flan.  His  voice  trembled  a  little  when  he  said  : 

"  You  have  a  superior  mind  and  a  very  superior  heart — " 

But  this  set  Twonnet  a-crying  again. 

Not  knowing  what  to  do  Whittaker  at  last  hit  upon  a 
plan  very  much  in  advance  of  the  methods  of  that  time. 
He  took  out  of  his  desk  two  apples  captured  from  unlucky 
boys  in  school  hours.  Trimming  the  one  that  was  bitten 
down  to  a  half,  he  put  it  with  the  whole  one,  and  Twon 
net,  amused  now  at  the  curious  action  and  quick  enough 
at  perception  of  the  concrete,  understood  at  once  what  a 
mixed  number  was.  Then  he  divided  the  whole  apple  and 
the  half  into  quarters  and  made  an  improper  fraction, 
telling  her  to  write  it  on  the  slate.  Then  he  made  her 

O 

reduce  it  again  to  a  mixed  number,  and  then  he  cut  it  into 
eighths  and  made  other  fractions.  But  it  was  getting 
dark  and  Whittaker  hurriedly  closed  the  church  and 
walked  home  with  Twonnet,  whoso  spirits  were  entirely  re 
stored.  He  enjoyed  her  society  as  one  does  that  of  a  child. 
At  the  supper-table  Twonnet  surprised  everybody  by 


256  ROXT. 

taking  two  biscuits  at  once.  She  cut  off  half  of  one  and 
laid  it  off  her  plate.  Then  addressing  the  younger  chil 
dren  who  sat  near  her,  she  began  : 

"  This  is  a  mixed  number,  one  and  a  half,  you  see." 
The  imitation  of  Whittaker's  hesitant  tones  and  New 
England  accent  were  so  perfect  that  Isabelle  and  Adolphe 
were  set  laughing  at  once. 

"  Toinette,  que  fais-tu  ? "  said  her  father,  not  quite 
understanding  what  mischief  she  was  at. 

Mr.  Whittaker  smiled  and  reddened. 

"  Je  donne  une  Ie9on  d'arithmetique  a  mon  frere,"  she 
answered  with  simplicity.  "  Now  you,  Adolphe,  I  cut 
this  into  quarters — six  quarters  are  made.  That  is  an 
improper  fraction  because  it  is  more  than  a  whole  num 
ber." 

At  this  the  children  and  Whittaker  all  laughed,  even 
Petite  Julie  joined  with  them,  and  the  father  saw  plainly 
that  Twonnet  was  mimicking  Whittaker's  manners. 

"  Tais-toi,  Toinette  !  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  incorrigible  girl,  speaking  now  to 
her  father  but  holding  fast  to  the  minister's  tone  and  man 
ner,  "but  if  these  children  would  only  think  of  something 
besides  play  I  wouldn't  have  to  cut  up  my  biscuits  to  get 
knowledge  into  their  shallow  minds." 

She  closed  this  with  an  angular  gesture  and  an  inflec 
tion  peculiar  to  Whittaker,  and  so  set  the  table  in  a  roar, 
while  she  looked  round  inquiringly  as  one  who  would  say, 
"  Why  this  merriment  ?  " 

"Tais-toi,  je  te  dis!"  cried  her  father,  all  the  more 
angry  that  she  had  provoked  even  him  to  laughter. 

Whittaker  did  not  like  being  laughed  at, — who  does  f 
But  in  his  life  of  dry  application  and  stern  propriety  the 
girl's  daring  animal  spirits  were  as  refreshing  as  a  well  in 


IMPROPER  FRACTIONS. 


AN  IMPROPER  FRACTION.  257 

a  desert.  Nevertheless,  he  reflected,  when  alone  in  his 
room,  that  she  was  of  inferior  mental  ability,  for  she  could 
not  master  her  lessons  easily,  and  then  her  laughter  about 
it  seemed  flippant  and  frivolous.  So  unlike  Roxy,  over 
whom  even  yet  he  could  not  quite  help  sighing !  But  this 
theory  of  the  flippancy  of  Twormet's  character  was  dis 
turbed  by  what  he  knew  of  her  at  other  times,  and  he  fell 
back  upon  his  old  conclusion  that  there  was  something 
about  the  strange  girl  he  could  not  make  out. 

He  did  not  know  that  she  had  her  cry  in  the  garret  the 
next  morning  when  she  told  the  old  doll  that  nobody 
would  ever,  ever  love  her  because  she  did  not  know  any 
thing  and  had  no  head  at  all 


CHAPTEK  XXX  VTL 

DIVISIONS. 

IT  does  seem  that  matrimony  might  be  improved  "  in 
this  progressive  age."  How  is  it  that  there  is  no  method  by 
which  a  husband  can  be  guaranteed  ?  When  one  consid 
ers  how  often  a  woman  who  has  married  a  saint  of  twenty- 
five  finds  in  ten  years  that  by  some  transformation  she 
is  wedded  to  a  middle-aged  sinner,  it  really  seems  that 
there  ought  to  be  bondsmen  who  should  stand  surety  that 
the  piety,  industry  and  supple  courtesy  of  the  bridegroom 
shall  be  perpetually  maintained  at  the  standard  of  the 
days  of  courtship.  A  husband  warranted  to  keep  in  any 
climate  and  to  stand  the  test  of  extraordinary  temptations 
without  molding  or  deteriorpting  in  any  respect  would  be 
most  desirable.  In  how  few  cases  do  women  find  the 
goods  "  as  represented^"  Indeed,  it  seems  that  the  dura 
bility  of  a  husband's  good  qualities  does  not  enter  into  the 
thought  of  a  bride.  All  men  are  unchangeable  in  the 
eyes  of  their  sweethearts.  Does  it  never  occur  to  a  young 
woman  who  inquires  anxiously  whether  a  certain  sort  of 
dry  goods  u  will  wash,"  to  ask  also  whether  a  fair-seeming 
young  man  has  fast  colors  in  his  character,  or  whether  after 
the  first  scrubbing  that  adverse  circumstances  shall  give 
him,  he  will  come  out  a  faded  raoj  ? 

/  O 

\      Here  was  Roxy,  who  had  loved  and  married  a  heroic 

;  missionary,  impatient    to   brave   malaria,   alligators,   and 

persecution  in  the  republic  of  Texas,  for  the  kingdom  of 


DIVISIONS.  259 

heaven's  sake.  In  three-quarters  of  a  year  she  finds  that 
she  is  married  to  a  popular  young  lawyer,  eager  for  small 
political  honors,  and  caring  nothing  for  missions  and  pre 
cious  little  for  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  By  some  enchant 
ment  the  man  she  had  married  is  changed  to  another ;  one 
restraint  after  another  is  slipping  away.  To  what  kind  of 
a  man  will  she  be  wedded  in  an  another  year  ? 

But  it  is  not  the  husband  alone  that  needs  to  be  war 
ranted.  If  Mark  had  ceased  to  be  the  blazing  comet  of 
the  religious  firmament  of  Luzerne,  Roxy's  steadier  light 
also  paled.  The  differences  of  thought  arid  feeling 
"between  the  two  were  so  great  that  Eoxy  had  now  a  con 
stant  sense  of  being  half  deserted,  though  Mark  would 
Lave  resented  a  charge  of  neglecting  her.  Mark,  indeed, 
found  to  his  surprise  that  he  had  not  married  the  meek 
and  inoffensive  saint  he  thought.  The  shoe-maker's 
daughter  developed  the  shoe-maker's  temper.  She  put 
Amanda's  innuendoes  and  Mark's  heedlessness  together. 
Whether  she  spoke  her  reprehension  of  Mark's  ways,  or 
whether  she  kept  silence,  he  knew  that  she  was  offended 
with  him.  Koxy  began  to  back-slide — so  it  seemed  to  the 
church-members.  For,  from  her  constant  perturbation  of 
mind  and  her  constant  irritation  of  temper,  she  was  ever 
in  a  state  of  self-reproach.  She  went  to  all  the  meetings, 
but  she  no  longer  took  a  leading  part.  She  sat  off,  as  one 
apart  from  the  rest ;  she  spoke  with  reserve  ;  she  treated 
her  old  friends  shyly,  and  they  said  that  her  position  and 
the  temptations  of  this  world  had  led  her  away  from  the 
cross  and  made  her  too  proud  to  meet  her  friends  cor 
dially.  For  often  a  reserve  that  hides  a  bitter  humiliation 
eeems  to  be  haughtiness. 

Is  it  any  wonder  that  Mark  felt  his  marriage  a  disap 
pointment?  lie  had  given  Koxy  social  position,  every 


260  ROXY. 

comfort,  liberty  to  be  as  pious  as  she  pleased,  a  house  with 
a  row  of  aristocratic  Lorabardy  poplars,  the  Bonamy  name. 
He  had  asked  nothing  on  the  other  hand  but  liberty  to  do 
as  lie  pleased.  And  now  because  she  could  not  domineer 
over  him  and  keep  him  from  the  career  that  his  gifta 
fitted  him  for,  she  was  unhappy  and  ill-tempered.  Was 
there  a  more  inoffensive,  easy-going  and  kind-hearted  hus 
band  in  the  world  than  he  ?  He  gave  Hoxy  everything. 
Do  you  wonder  that  he  was  angry  and  stubborn  when  he 
thought  of  her  dissatisfaction  ? — that  he  determined  not 
to  be  controlled  by  a  woman? — that  he  showed  his  defi 
ance  by  doing  what  he  knew  she  most  disliked  him  to  do  ? 
Mark  Bonamy's  friends  should  know  that  he  was  a  man 
with  a  mind  of  his  own.  Many  a  man  sacrifices  possible 
happiness  to  his  vanity. 

Amanda,  by  indirect  means,  encouraged  this  state  of 
mind  in  Mark.  Not  that  she  had  any  definite  purpose  in 
making  mischief.  Mischief-makers  hardly  ever  do ;  they 
make  mischief  from  an  appetite — in  a  sort  of  devilish  en 
joyment  of  the  upsetting  they  produce.  Besides,  it  was 
not  pleasant  to  Amanda  to  have  Roxy  the  chosen  nurse  of 
her  father.  She  inly  believed  that  Koxy  had  interested 
motives.  And  mother  Tartrum  had  evolved  a  similar 
theory  from  the  shallows  of  her  own  consciousness.  Boxy 
was  looking  out  for  the  will. 

But  Roxy  found  her  former  self  only  in  what  she  did 
for  Colonel  Bonamy  and  Bobo.  She  read  to  the  old  man. 
Sometimes  she  tried  to  awaken  a  religious  sense  in  him, 
but  he  only  smiled  or  spoke  petulantly.  It  was  hard  to 
trace  the  action  of  his  mind.  To  the  controversy  about 
Texas  and  the  misson  he  never  alluded.  He  did  not  seem 
much  interested  in  Mark's  success.  A  state  of  general 
apathy  or  petulant  indifference  seemed  to  have  supervened 


DIVISIONS.  261 

on  his  life  of  restless  and  energetic  action.  He  was  re 
lieved  when  the  spring  came  again.  With  the  aid  of  his 
cane  he  promenaded,  on  clear  days,  up  and  down  the 
front  porch,  hobbling  and  holding  by  the  balusters  at 
times.  What  he  thought  or  felt,  or  whether  he  thought 
of  anything  or  felt  aught  beyond  his  physical  ailments, 
lloxy  could  not  guess.  His  mind  seemed  a  little  stronger 
than  at  first  and  his  hold  on  the  nouns  came  to  be  firmer 
in  proportion. 

Roxy  used  to  wish  that  some  of  his  old  combativeness 
might  return  ;  then  she  might  come  to  know  without  hum 
bling  herself  to  ask,  just  what  there  was  in  his  allusion  to 
Nancy  Kirtley. 

As  for  Nancy,  when  she  had  found  that  Mark  was  to 
remain  within  reach  she  had  given  up  all  thought  of 
berating  him  or  his  wife.  There  might  be  a  chance  for 
revenge  more  to  her  taste.  She  had  no  very  definite  idea 
of  what  this  possible  revenge  was,  or  what  it  might  lead 
to.  She  was  impelled  by  blind  forces  within  her  to  seek 
conquest,  to  gratify  vanity  and  resentment,  to  use  craft. 
She  had  no  more  forethought  of  the  ultimate  result  of  a 
course  of  action,  and  hardly  any  more  freedom  of  will, 
than  an  animal.  She  had  all  the  qualities  of  her  race, 
Her  ancestors  delighted  only  in  the  craft,  the  pursuit,  the 
victory  and  the  destructiveness  of  the  chase.  Nancy  had 
the  same  elements  in  her  character ;  her  weapons  and  her 
game  were  different.  That  was  all.  She  was  still,  like 
them,  a  beast  of  prey.  Even  her  resentments  were  as  un 
reasonable  as  blind  impulse  could  make  them.  It  was 
not  Mark  whom  she  hated,  it  was  Koxy.  Now  that  the 
"  old  man  Bonamy,"  as  she  styled  him,  "  had  the  palsy 
bad,"  and  Roxy  was  likely  soon  .to  be  mistress  of  the  Lorn- 
bardy  poplars  and  the  brick  house,  she  found  anothei 


262  ROXY. 

reason  for  malice.  In  her  primitive  state  of  savagery,  the 
sense  of  right  and  wrong  had  only  reached  a  point  accord 
ing  to  which  everything  she  desired  ought  to  have  beer 
l:ors.  She  wanted  Mark  and  what  pertained  to  himt 
therefore  she  had  been  robbed  by  her  who  possessed  him. 
And  she  meant  "  to  be  even  some  day."  Such  was  hei 
notion  of  equity  and  retributive  justice.  In  moral  culture 
she  had  not  got  beyond  the  age  of  stone  hatchets.  The 
purpose  of  revenge  grew  to  be  part  of  her  very  nature,  it 
mixed  itself  with  and  intensified  her  passion  for  Bonamy ; 
it  became  the  most  desirable  object  in  the  world  to  her 
pride.  She  exulted  at  the  thought  of  a  victory  she  meant 
to  win,  when  everybody  would  see  that  she,  Nancy  Kirtley, 
knew  how  to  get  even  with  that  hateful  Adams  girl,  and 
"  pay  her  back." 

Nancy  did  not  find  much  opportunity  to  try  her  bland 
ishments  on  Mark.  She  and  her  sister-in-law,  the  dray 
man's  wife,  did  not  get  on  harmoniously  together,  and  it 
was  not  possible  for  her  to  remain  in  her  brother's  house 
more  than  a  day  or  two  at  a  time.  By  the  end  of  two 
days  spent  together,  the  incompatibility  of  the  two  women 
generally  reached  a  climax,  and  separation  became  inevita 
ble.  Whereupon  Nancy  would  return  to  Rocky  Fork,  and 
while  away  her  time  in  dazzling  the  rustic  beaus,  accord 
ing  to  her  wont,  keeping  half  the  young  men  and  all  the 
young  women  of  the  neighborhood  in  a  state  of  distrac 
tion. 

In  her  occasional  trips  to  town,  she  had  only  chanca 
conversations  with  Mark  on  the  street.  In  these  inter 
views  Mark  treated  her  with  off-hand  cordiality,  partly 
because  he  was  afraid  of  her,  but  partly  also  because  he 
could  E.ot  but  feel  the  fascination  of  her  physical  perfect 
ness. 


DIVISIONS.  263 

Kancy  saw  with  deliglit  that  McGowan,  the  most  de 
voted  of  her  lovers,  was  waxing  desperate  under  her 
treatment.  She  alternately  fascinated  and  froze  him. 
She  was  "  like  the  second-day  ager,"  Jim  said.  "  She  was 
now  this  away,  now  that  away.  Some  days  she  was  all 
shiney-like  and  sweet ;  and  then  the  very  next  day  she 
looked  at  him  so  as  to  make  the  cold  chills  run  down  his 
back." 

Nancy  took  so  much  pleasure  in  the  cat-like  sense  of  power 
she  had  in  playing  with  the  hopes  and  fears  of  the  poor 
fellow,  who  was  thus  beyond  escape  the  prey  of  her  fasci 
nations,  that  she  was  delighted  to  see  him  in  these  days 
often  intoxicated.  She  knew  that  everybody  would  say 
that  she  had  "  played  the  devil  with  Jim,"  and  that  was  a 
tribute  to  her  power.  Her  pleasure  at  having  thus  en 
meshed  him  tended  to  abate  her  resentment  toward  Roxy ; 
but  that  resentment  was  suddenly  fanned  into  a  new 
flame. 

As  McGowan  went  past  the  cabin  of  the  Kirtleys  one 
evening  early  in  June,  just  enough  intoxicated  to  be  de 
fiant,  he  reined  up  his  horses  and  began  to  call  Nancy. 
The  girl  was  wonderfully  amused  at  his  inebriate  condition, 
and  she  came  out  prepared  to  enjoy  it. 

"Nance,"  said  Jim,  looking  at  her  with  suppressed 
glee,  "ole  Bonamy's  dead.  Had  another  fit  to-day,  and 
cleared  out.  Guess  the  money's  gone  to  Mark.  Git 
upl" 

And  Jim  comforted  himself  for  the  next  mile  by  chuck 
ling  in  his  inebriety,  "  I  made  her  mad  that  time.  Won't 
ole  sis  hop  around  now  ?  Hoop ! " 

And  could  he  have  heard  the  denunciations  of  Roxy  to 
which  Nancy  gave  vent  when  he  was  gone,  his  drunken 
malice  would  have  been  content.  Nancy's  one  consolation 


264:  ROXY. 

was  that  she  would  "  get  even,"  and  "  pay  her  back  yet." 
She  began  her  revenge  by  quarrelling  with  her  mother, 
and  making  the  house  so  hot  that  even  the  thick-skinned 
old  Gid  left  the  old  woman  and  her  youngest  child  to 
u  hare  it  out,"  while  he  went  over  to  Canaan  and  got  his 
twisted  bottle  filled. 


CHAPTER  XXXTHI. 

GOING   WEONG. 

COLONEL  BONAMY  died  sitting  in  his  chair  on  the  porch 
while  Roxy  was  reading  to  him.  That  is  all  there  is  to 
say  about  it,  except  that  there  was  a  very  large  concourse 
at  the  funeral.  It  is  quite  worth  while  to  be  a  leading 
man  in  one's  town,  if  one  wants  to  be  followed  to  the 
grave  by  a  great  procession  of  indifferent  people,  and  dis 
cussed  adversely  by  all  the  gossips  of  the  county.  Of 
what  use  was  Colonel  Bonamy's  money  now  ?  The  un- 
answerableness  of  this  question  gave  great  satisfaction  to 
those  who  had  envied  him  all  his  life.  "He  couldn't  take 
the  money  with  him."  "  Wonder  if  his  property  will  do 
him  any  good  where  he's  gone  ? "  "  Guess  he's  found  out 
to  his  satisfaction  by  this  time  whether  there's  any  here 
after."  It  is  a  great  comfort  to  us  all  that  death  brings 
everybody  to  a  level  at  last. 

All  the  world,  as  the  French  say,  had  talked  about 
Mark's  backsliding,  and  now  all  the  world  wondered 
whether  this  solemn  warning  would  do  him  any  good. 
Mark  was  not  without  feeling,  though  he  had  never  loved 
his  father,  except  with  what  might  be  called  a  conventional 
affection.  He  shed  conventional  tears,  and  felt  a  conven 
tional  sorrow.  He  really  thought  himself  bereaved,  and, 
in  a  conventional  way,  he  was  bereaved.  He  did  feel 
touched  to  have  so  active  a  force  as  his  father  had  been, 
wholly  gone  out  of  his  life.  He  went  softly  for  a\\ihile. 

12 


266  ROXY. 

lie  attended  church  for  two  consecutive  Sundays,  and  onco 
even  staid  to  class-meeting  with  Roxy. 

But  the  habits  of  life  he  had  been  forming  were  too 
congenial  to  his  ambitious  and  self-indulgent  nature  to  be 
easily  broken.  When  the  will  was  read,  it  was  found  that 
fully  one-half  of  the  property  was  his.  Stepping  at  once 
into  the  position  of  a  rich  man — rich,  as  the  times  and  the 
town  went — was  not  a  means  of  grace  to  a  young  man 
prone  to  regard  himself  as  the  most  important  person 
within  the  horizon,  and  to  deduce  from  that  importance 
an  inference  of  self-indulgence.  It  surely  is  not  needful 
that  I 'weary  the  reader  with  the  story  of  his  moral  decline 
during  the  year  following  his  father's  death.  Look  into 
the  face  of  your  next  neighbor,  and  perhaps  you  can  read 
this  same  trite  story  of  vanity  and  egotism,  ambition  and 
self-indulgence,  pampered  by  the  flattery  of  friends.  It 
is  one  of  the  oldest  stories  in  the  world.  Nevertheless, 
this  world  of  ours,  which  is  always  learning  and  ever  for 
getting,  never  fails  to  be  filled  with  surprise  when  a  man 
of  ability  travels  in  this  way — the  "  easy  descent  to  perdi 
tion."  Hasn't  a  smart  man  sense  enough  not  to  walk 
straight  into  the  fire  ?  But  it  is  the  smartness  that  helps  to 
drive  a  man  sometimes. — the  smartness  and  the  power  of 
intense  enjoyment  and  of  intense  suffering  that  a  man  of 
active  faculties  possesses, — the  intoxication  that  comes  of 
flattery  and  success, — the  provocations  to  pleasure  that 
boset  a  man  of  vivid  imagination  above  all  his  fellows. 
The  dull  man  is  only  tried  by  those  temptations  that  can 
reach  his  senses ;  the  man  of  imagination  is  be-deviled  by 
a  thousand  sirens  that  others  never  see,  and  he  has  the 
power  of  putting  garments  of  light  on  Diabolus,  for  hid 
own  delectation.  If  you  will  add  to  all  this  the  self-con 
fidence  that  is  fed  by  a  sense  of  power,  you  will  have  somo 


GOING    WRONG.  267 

of  tho  elemei  ts  that  make  men  of  quick  intelligence  walk 
face  forward  into  moral  perdition.  Genius  is,  indeed? 
"  the  worst  horse  in  the  stable,"  as  says  the  clown.  A. 
little  helm  for  a  little  ship,  but  a  greater  vessel  needs  a 
larger  rudder,  and  woe  to  him  who  has  imagination  and 
mental  activity  and  passion,  disproportioned  to  his  moral 
sense. 

It  matters  not  to  this  story  that  I  shall  tell  you  how 
Amanda  Bonamy  was  married.  It  was  not  a  marriage 
you  would  care  to  hear  about.  A  matter  of  active,  push 
ing,  self-seeking  young  Benjamin  Barlow,  attorney  and 
counselor-at-law,  on  the  one  side,  arid  Miss  Amanda  Bona 
my  and  ten  thousand  dollars  on  the  other.  Roxy's  life 
was  all  the  less  unhappy  after  Amanda  had  moved  to  the 
other  end  of  the  village,  though  she  could  not  help  hear 
ing  repeated  the  words  by  which  Mrs.  Barlow  suggested 
to  her  friends  that  it  was  hardly  fair  that  Koxy  Adams 
should  have  crowded  her  out  of  the  house  her  father  built. 
And  all  the  town  imagined  that  the  luckiest  woman  of  all 
the  town  was  the  shoe-maker's  daughter,  whose  principal 
occupation  in  life  it  was  to  entertain  the  local  politicians 
in  the  brick  house  behind  the  two  rows  of  Lombardies, 
which  stood  like  stiff  grenadiers  guarding  the  entrance. 
Her  distaste  for  her  occupations  and  her  sharp  discipline 
in  living  under  the  surveillance  of  Amanda,  had  given  her 
an  air  that  passed  among  superficial  observers  for  hauteur. 
The  politicians,  when  they  were  her  guests  at  dinner, 
thought  her  proud.  Her  old  neighbors  deemed  that  she 
upnt  on  airs,"  and  consoled  themselves  by  remembering 
how  poor  she  had  been. 

So  came  the  summer  of  1843.  Mark's  father  had  been 
dead  a  year.  Mark's  habits  in  the  matter  of  occasional 
drinking  and  frequent  gambling  for  small  amounts  had 


268  ROXT. 

come  to  be  so  well  known  that  he  preferred  to  withdraw 
from  the  church  rather  than  to  fall  under  discipline  again. 

is  ambition  was  now  his  consuming  passion.  The  Whig 
victory  of  1840  had  been  barren  enough.  It  had  brought 
the  party  nothing  but  chagrin  and  John  Tyler.  Despite 
the  all -pre  vailing  Millerite  excitement  about  the  end  oi 
the  world,  the  Whigs  were  now  preparing  to  win  victory, 
if  possible,  once  more  in  1844.  And  Mark  was  so  ab 
sorbed  with  desire  to  be  the  candidate  for  Congress  in  that 
next  year's  campaign  that  more  than  ever  he  became  un 
congenial  to  his  home  and  his  home  distasteful  to  him. 

For  the  more  he  wandered  the  more  did  Roxy,  like  many 
another  wife,  seek  to  make  atonement  for  his  sins  by  re 
doubled  faithfulness  and  severity  in  her  own-  Christian 
life.  Not  that  she  would  have  confessed  any  belief  in  the 
transferable  value  of  works  of  supererogation.  But  we  all 
believe  in  our  secret  superstitious  selves  many  things  that 
would  horrify  us  if  written  out  in  creeds.  And  had  she  not 
been  taught  by  ministers  of  every  name,  that  the  incessant 
prayer  of  a  faithful  wife  would  surely  be  answered  ?  Her 
growing  austerity  was  partly  for  Mark's  sake,  and  this 
growing  austerity  repelled  the  husband  she  sought  to 
reclaim. 

What  a  reconciler  of  uncongenialities  may  a  child  be 
come  !  Given  a  child  and  there  is  at  least  one  strong 
common  interest,  for  when  man  and  wife  are  partners  in 
a  new  life  there  are  a  thousand  things  to  draw  them  to- 

O 

gether.  But  there  was  no  heir  to  the  Bonamy  home  and 
tho  Bonamy  ascendancy.  So  that  Amanda  being  married 
and  Janet  having  found  the  discord  between  Mark  and 
his  wife  uncomfortable  and  having  betaken  herself  to  a 
residence  with  a  widowed  aunt  in  Louisville,  Roxy's  life 
was  lonely,  inactive  and  unhappy.  Disappointments  that 


GOING    WRONG.  269 

would  have  made  some  women  viragoes,  made  Roxy 
austere.  She  was  afraid  that  in  the  temptations  about 
her  she  should  somehow  "  compromise  her  religion,"  as  the 
phrase  went.  Much  of  her  attitude  of  censure  and  rebuke 
toward  Mark  came  from  this  resolution  not  to  compromise 
her  integrity  in  any  way. 

There  was  only  one  person  who  profited  by  Roxy's  un- 
happiness.  All  the  wealth  of  her  love  and  benevolence 
were  poured  out  upon  Bobo,  whose  intelligence  slowly  in 
creased  under  her  teaching.  lie  could  read  a  little  now, 
and  he  learned  to  recite  a  great  deal  of  poetry,  but  his 
understanding  was  very  one-sided  and  lame.  Mark  dis 
liked  him  with  a  sort  of  jealousy,  and  he  in  turn  shrank 
away  from  Mark,  and  so  he  added  to  the  division  of  feeling 
in  the  house. 

As  Roxy's  loneliness  increased  the  old  intimacy  with 
Twonnet  came  back  by  degrees.  But  there  was  always  a 
little  sacred  fiction  kept  up  between  them.  Both  pre 
tended  that  Roxy's  married  life  was  happy,  both  knew 
that  the  pretense  was  a  hollow  one,  and  both  knew  that  its 
hollowness  deceived  neither  of  them.  But  there  are  some 
hypocrisies  that  are  purely  provisional, — meant  to  impose 
on  no  one,  but  only  to  furnish  a  basis  for  possible  inter 
course.  Any  confession  of  her  unhappiness  on  Roxy's 
part  would  have  put  an  end  to  the  intimacy  at  once. 

As  for  Twonnet,  life  went  on  with  her  much  as  ever, 
She  still  attended  ii  the  winter  Mr.  Whittaker's  school. 
She  still  cried  over  her  lessons.  She  still  tormented  the 
good  man  with  her  mischief.  And  though  he  had  a  sense 
of  bfung  perpetually  ridiculous  in  her  eyes  she  was  the  \ 
one  piquant  element  in  his  life  full  of  dry  and  dusty  ap 
plication  to  duty.  He  had  come  by  degrees  to  tolerate 
her  slowness  in  getting  her  lessons,  though  he  could  not 


KOXT. 

understand  how  so  stupid  a  student  could  be  so  bright  a 
woman.  For  woman  he  knew  she  was, — a  woman  hiding 
yet  under  the  mask  of  a  merry  and  thoughtless  girl.  He 
understood  enough  of  her  to  guess  at  her  purpose  in  see 
ing  so  much' of  Roxj.  And  when  one  evening  in  the 
latter  part  of  the  September  of  1843,  Twonnet  came  back 
from  Roxy's  with  a  sobered  face,  Whittaker  guessed  that 
the  uncongeniality  in  the  house  behind  the  poplars  had 
brought  on  some  kind  of  a  climax. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

THE    EASY   ROAD    DOWNWARD. 

WHEN  a  man  abides  in  a  mine  and  sees  no  sunlight  he 
cannot  know  when  there  come  over  him  crookedness  and 
pnrblindness,  bnt  crookedness  and  pnrblindness  come. 
When  a  man  digs  in  the  caverns  of  conceit,  of  self  indul 
gence,  of  sensuality,  he  may  not  see  the  change  that  comes 
over  him,  but  sooner  or  later  he  is  transformed,  and  when 
at  last  he  tries  to  shake  off  the  goblin  shape  he  wonders 
perhaps  when  it  was  that  his  erect  soul  became  so  dis 
torted  by  darkness  and  burdens.  No  man  falls  like 
Lucifer  from  heaven — the  progress  of  evil  is  slow  and  not 
easily  perceived.  If  thou  hast  defeated  Circe,  and  escaped 
all  swinish  transformations  then  mayest  thou  proceed*  in 
safety  and  resist  the  sirens. 

Perhaps  it  was  because  Roxy  felt  by  intuition  the  steady 
decline  of  Mark's  tone,  that  she  took  so  strong  a  course  of 
opposition  to  things  that,  by  themselves,  were  hardly 
worthy  the  serious  treatment  she  gave  them.  And  it  was 
no  doubt  because  Mark  was  prone  to  take  lightly  his  own 
peccadilloes  because  they  were  his  own,  that  he  counted 
Roxy  unreasonably  severe  and  domineering.  An  act  thai 
seemed  grave  to  her  because  it  was  symptomatic  was 
utterly  trivial  to  him,  accustomed  as  he  was  to  see  himself 
always  in  the  light  of  his  own  unclouded  complacency 
And  because  he  judged  Roxy  to  be  harsh  and  unreason 
able  he  threw  off  her  influence  wholly. 


272  BOXY. 

Ill  order  to  bring  about  his  own  nomination  to  Congress 
in  1844  it  was  necessary  to  secure  the  election  of  his 
brother-in-law  Barlow  to  the  legislature  in  the  previous 
year,  that  Bonamy's  supporters  might  have  the  prestige  of 
success  in  their  own  county.  It  was  Mark's  great  rec 
ommendation  that  he  had  popularity  enough  to  carry  a 
Democratic  county.  And  now  Barlow  was  to  he  p  Mark  to 
conquer  if  Bonamy  would  help  him  to  the  legislature.  It 
was  in  fulfillment  of  his  part  of  this  compact  that  Mark 
prepared  to  ride  to  the  Republican  meeting-house  just 
before  the  election.  Barlow  was  strong  in  the  eastern  end 
of  the  county,  but  he  needed  help  in  the  northwest  where 
Mark  had  some  friends. 

"  You  will  remember,"  said  Bonamy,  "  that  I  shall 
expect  the  same  kind  of  service  from  you  next  year.  We 
must  hold  together  and  win,  whatever  we  do." 

"  Yes,"  said  Barlow.  "  But  if  you  want  to  succeed 
you'd  better  stop  asking  people  home  to  dinner.  Your 
wife  is  peculiar  and  people  think " 

"  Now  Barlow,"  said  Mark,  "  that'll  do.  My  wife  is  not 
to  be  discussed  even  by  my  brother-in-law." 

But  Mark  went  home  angry.  His  wife  not  only  vexed 
him  with  foolish  scruples,  but  she  stood  between  him  and 
success.  She  was  a  clog.  She  weighe(J  him  down.  He 
felt  sorry  for  himself.  Poor  fellow  !  What  a  pity  that  he 
had  married  a  cobbler's  girl,  who  never  would  rise  to  hey 
station.  That  she  was  unfit  for  her  position  he  had  now 
conclusive  evidence.  The  township  magnates  were  not 
conciliated  by  her.  And  Mark,  who  hoped  by  dint  of  his 
smartness  and  family  position  to  win  Congress  at  the  very 
start  of  his  life,  found  himself  balked  by  an  unlucky 
marriage  to  a  woman  who  was  smart  enough,  but  with  no 
largeness  of  aspiration. 


THE  EAST  ROAD  DOWNWARD.  278 

I  doubt  not  many  another  woman  not  wanting  in  ijuality 
would  have  been  a  dead  weight  to  Mark  in  such  circum 
stances.  Imagine  Jacqueline  Pascal  entertaining  at  din 
ner  the  most  influential  blacksmith  in  Posey  township  and 
the  capacious  hotel-keeper  of  Bray  town,  in  the  interest  of 
a  husband's  election  to  the  American  Congress.  It  is 
just  possible  that  good  Hannah  More,  or  enthusiastic 
Eugenie  de  Guerin,  for  instance,  would  neither  of  them, 
in  Roxy's  situation,  have  laughed  heartily  enough  at  the 
funny  stories  of  the  landlord,  which  he  himself  emphasized 
with  uproarious  mirth.  Even  Maria  Hare  or  Madame  de 
Meulan-Guizot  would  probably  have  failed  to  show  suffi 
cient  interest  in  the  blacksmith's  account  of  his  wife's 
achievements  in  making  "  blue-dye "  by  a  method  her 
grandmother  learned  in  Tennessee.  There  are  limitations 
of  excellences  as  well  as  of  defects. 

But  the  more  Mark  thought  about  it,  the  more  grievous 
it  seemed  to  him  that  all  the  bright  prospects  of  his  life 
should  be  blighted  by  Roxy's  unwillingness  to  help  him. 
Of  course  it  is  not  the  business  of  a  husband  to  consider 
whether  a  wife's  hopes  are  clouded.  The  rib  came  from 
Adam's  side,  and  the  woman  was  made  for  man.  Bar 
low's  words  about  Roxy  rankled.  The  next  morning,  as 
Mark  put  a  few  needful  things  into  his  saddle-bags  before 
starting  away,  he  nerved  himself  to  deliver  a  serious 
protest  to  Roxy.  It  is  a  little  hard  to  declaim  to  a  clair 
voyant  woman,  who  gives  one  the  uncomfortable  feeling 
that  she  is  looking  through  all  small  hypocrisies.  But  it 
must  be  done  sometimes. 

Mark  began  in  a  tone  of  appeal,  as  of  one  who  has 
Buffered  many  things. 

'•'  Roxy,  I  do  wish  you  could  be  a  little  more — obliging 
— and — polite,  you  know,  to  the  people  I  ask  here  to  din 
12* 


274  ROX7. 

ner.  They  are  common,  country  people  ;  but  you  oughtn't 
to  look  down  on  them." 

"  I  look  down  on  them  !  "  And  Roxy  turned  full  upon 
him  her  wids-open,  wondering,  guileless  eyes.  "  I  hope 
I  do«i't  look  down  on  anybody." 

"  But  then  you — you  might  say  pleasant  things  to  them 
about  their  wives  and  children  and  their — their  affairs. 
Make  them  feel  happy.  Amanda  natters  everybody  that 
comes  to  her  house,  and  she  will  make  Ben's  fortune  if 
she  keeps  on.  People  go  away  from  here  and  say  you  are 
proud." 

Roxy's  eyes  fell. 

"  I  can't  say  such  things  as  Amanda  does.  She  pre 
tends  to  like  people  that  she  doesn't  like.  The  people  you 
bring  here  are  rough,  tricky,  and  drinking  men.  I  can't 
bear  them." 

Mark  winced  under  this.  There  was  a  latent  conscious 
ness  that  in  the  particulars  she  named  he  was  growing 
more  like  these  men,  and  he  suspected  a  thrust  at  himself. 
He  slowly  rolled  up  his  leggins  and  stuffed  them  into  his 
saddle-bags. 

"  I  think  you  might  take  some  interest  in  my  affairs." 
Mark's  strong  refuge  was  a  constant  sympathy  with  his 
own  sorrows. 

"  But  I  can't  tell  lies,  Mark,  and  you  oughtn't  to  ask 
that.  I  haven't  any  heart  for  this  whole  business.  It 
ruins  my  husband.  He  comes  home  to  me  smelling  of 
spirits ;  he  brings  home  men  whom  he  ought  to  despise  ;  lie 
thinks  of  nothing  but  of  winning  an  office,  and  he  goes 
with  men  that  do  him  harm,  I'm  sure.  Oh,  Mark ! " 

But  Roxy  broke  down  heie  and  left  her  appeal  uu- 
uttered.  It  is  a  woman's  way,  and  very  exasperating  to  a 
man,  to  break  into  unanswerable  silence  or  eloquent  teari 


THE  EASY  ROAD  DOWNWARD.  275 

in  the  middle  of  a  controversy.     But   Mark   had   now  • 
thoroughly  lost  his  temper,  and  his  voice  assumed  a  rasp 
ing  harshness  quite  unusual  with  him. 

"  This  is  the  honor  you  show  your  husband.  I've  given 
you  every  comfort,  and  a  high  social  position ;  but  you 
care  more  for  that  idiot  Bobo  than  for  me.  You  take  no 
interest  in  my  affairs  because  I  won't  turn  preacher  and  go 
moping  around  like  Whittaker." 

The  mention  of  Whittaker  at  this  point  stung  Roxy  far 
more  than  Mark  intended.  Quick  as  a  flash  there  sprang 
into  view  in  her  mind  a  most  disloyal  and  un wifely  com 
parison,  which  may  have  been  latent  there  for  a  long  while. 
The  superiority  of  Whittaker,  in  all  his  pursuits  and  aims,  \ 
to  Mark,  stood  forth  in  her  thoughts,  and  for  the  first  time 
there  was  forced  upon  her,  with  a  dreadful  pang,  a  con 
fession  to  her  own  soul  that  her  choice  had  been  a  mistake. 
How  long  had  she  fended  off  this  feeling  !  Once  recog 
nized,  her  thoughts  about  her  husband  could  never  more 
be  the  same.  Mark  had  meant  to  say  a  rude  thing ;  he 
little  dreamed  how  his  own  image  in  Roxy's  heart  had 
been  dragged  into  the  dirt  and  forever  degraded  by  the 
train  of  thought  his  words  had  started.  It  was  because  of 
the  great  agony  she  suffered  from  the  sharp  contrast  so 
unfavorable  to  the  man  she  had  chosen,  that  she  sat  silent 
Mark  was  sure  that  his  words  were  having  an  effect. 
I^ow  was  the  time  to  achieve  that  mastery  in  his  owrn 
house  so  necessary  to  re-establish  his  standing  with  hi 3 
friends — with  Barlow  and  Amanda  and  the  rest.  So  he 
proceeded : 

"  You  ought  to  know  what  people  will  say.  They  think 
that,  because  you  were  poor  and  then  married  a  man  wel 
off,  that  you  are  stuck-up.  I  don't  like  people  to  say  that. 
And  really,  Roxy,  you  ought  to  be  pretty  well  satisfied  with 


276  ROXY. 

your  position."  Mark  Lardly  intended  this  last  sentence 
to  have  the  condescending  tone  that  he  gave  it.  He  did 
not  mean  to  insult  his  wife,  but  to  defend  his  own  dignity, 
He  would  fain  have  recalled  the  words  when  he  saw  the 
first  flash  of  quick  and  iiery  indignation  in  Roxy's  flushed 
face  and  eyes  that  shone  like  live  coals. 

"Mark  Bonamy,  do  you  think  I  thank  you  for  giving 
me  this  house  and  making  me  the  wife  of  a  rich  man  ?  I 
took  you  because  you  were  poor  and  a  missionary,  going 
to  endure  everything  for  a  good  cause.  Your  father  meant 
to  leave  you  poor."  Here  Roxy  stopped  to  take  breath. 
"  1  wish  to  goodness  you  were  poor  again,  and  the  Mark  you 
used  to  be,  or  the  Mark  I  thought  you.  Isn't  it  bad  enough 
that  you  have  changed  2  Is  there  any  reason  why  you 
should  insult  your  wife  with  such  words  ?  I  thank  you 
for  nothing!  I  thank  you  for  nothing  from  this  time 
forth!" 

"  Well,"  said  Mark  bitterly,  "  the  truth  is  the  truth.  If 
you  let  your  notions  interfere,  you  show  that  you  are  not 
fitted  for  your  station.  It  is  time  you  learned  that  you 
are  not  a  poor  shoe-maker's  girl  any  longer." 

"  I  wish  I  was.  From  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  Mark,  I 
wish  I  was.  If  I  could  only  go  back  to  the  dear  old  home, 
and  be  what  I  was !  You  have  made  me  wish  it  this  day, 
by  the  words  you  have  said.  You  drive  the  love  out  of 
my  heart  entirely.  If  you  say  much  more,  you'll  make 
me  despise  you  !  " 

Roxy  ran  away  to  her  room.  She  could  not  control  her 
temper  now  ;  but  she  knew  how  severely  she  must  do  pen 
ance  for  it  after  awhile.  For  even  in  her  passion  she 
knew,  in  a  blind  way,  that  all  this  could  do  no  good,  and 
might  do  a  great  deal  of  harm.  But  her  sensitive  pride, 
BO  long  wounded  by  the  tacit  assumption  that  she  was 


THE  EAST  ROAD  DO  WNWARD.  277 

under  obligation  for  the  dignity  of  her  social  position, 
now  uttered  one  vehement  protest  against  all  the  torture 
it  had  endured  since  her  marriage. 

Mark  rode  away  angry,  and,  as  usual,  with  a  very  gen  nine 
sorrow  for  himself.  For  in  the  long-unused  upper  cham 
bers  of  his  soul  there  was  still  a  sort  of  love  for  Roxy. 
Now  he  felt  all  the  bitterness  of  sorely  wounded  vanity. 
He  drank  more  deeply  than  usual  before  leaving  the  town, 
and  he  stopped  at  Sterling  for  another  drink.  He  drove 
his  horse  on  and  on,  over  the  rough  limestone  of  the  hol 
lows,  that  he  might  give  vent  to  his  impatience.  The 
deliciousness  of  the  early  autumn  in  these  deep,  shady 
glens,  the  muffled  murmur  of  the  brooks,  already  choked 
with  the  accumulated  leaves  and  other  debris  of  the  sum 
mer,  only  irritated  him,  by  making  more  evident  to  him 
the  turbulency  of  anger  and  something  akin  to  despair  in 
his  own  heart. 

He  did  not  see  the  oncoming  of  a  great  storm  until  the 
thunder  burst  overhead.  Then  he  would  not  so  much  aa 
tie  on  his  leggins.  He  relished. the  pelting  of  the  dashing 
rain.  It  was  a  counter-irritant  to  the  storm  within.  Ho 
rode  past  many  farm-houses,  but  he  would  not  stop. 

It  was  characteristic  of  the  impetuosity  of  the  man  that 
he  should  feel  so  keenly  this  terrible  blow  to  his  self- 
esteem.  He  was  sure  the  fault  must  be  Roxy's.  All  his 
friends  admired  and  nattered  him.  She  alone  took  it  on 
her  to  rebuke  him  ;  and,  as  hers  was  a  voice  solitary  and 
unsupported,  and  above  all  disagreeable  to  his  feelings,, 
she  was  clearly  wrong.  And  what  a  gross  and  wicked 
shame  it  was,  that  a  well-natured  and  indulgent  husband 
— such  as  he — should  be  stung  by  such  insulting  taunts, 
all  because  he  did  not  want  his  prospects  blighted  by  s 
perverse  wife! 


273  MOXT. 

It  had  rained  an  hour  and  he  was  wet  through  when  he 
came  to  Kirtley's  cabin,  standing  low-browed  and  drip 
ping  in  the  rain  like  a  brute  that  sullenly  endures  a  storm 
from  which  it  has  no  shelter.  When  he  saw  it  a  new 
train  of  thought  seized  him.  In  that  cabin  was  a  woman 
who  loved  him  and  who  would  go  to  the  ends  of  the  eaith 
for  him.  There  were  plenty  of  women  who  would  give 
the  world  for  what  E-oxy  spurned.  The  thought  flattered 
and  solaced  him.  He  slackened  pace  a  little,  looked 
through  the  window  at  the  blazing  fire  on  the  great  hearth, 
asked  himself  whether  he  should  not  go  in  and  dry  himself 
by  the  fire.  But  a  sudden  vision  of  the  possible  results  of 
such  a  course  made  him  whip  up  his  horse  in  desperation. 

Ulysses  stopped  witli  wax,  you  will  remember,  the  ears 
of  his  sailors  while  they  were  in  hearing  of  the  sirens,  and 
caused  himself  to  be  fast  bound  to  the  mast,  taking  the 
same  precaution  against  the  seduction  of  temptation  that 
our  Farragut  took  against  bombshells.  But  he  who 
loosens  in  any  degree  the  moral  restraints  of  his  life, 
unstops  his  ears  and  unbinds  his  limbs  that  he  may  fall 
easy  prey  to  the  "  sirens  sitting  in  the  meads."  And  now 
as  Mark  plunged  on  through  the  deepening  mud  and  the 
pouring  rain  he  hearkened  to  the  voice  of  the  siren.  The 
Homeric  Greeks  in  their  simplicity  dreaded  only  sirens 
within  earshot.  But  the  modern  man  of  more  complex 
nature  and  gifted  with  a  brooding  imagination  cannot  run 
away  so  easily  from  the  "mellifluous  song"  of  seducing 
temptation.  Half  a  mile  beyond  the  Kirtley  cabin  wao 
the  ford.  Rocky  Fork  had  risen  bankf  ull.  There  was  no 
crossing  except  by  swimming  his  horse.  A  daring  fellow 
like  Mark  would  not  mind  a  spice  of  danger;  he  knew 
that  he  ought  to  go  on  at  all  hazards  ;  but  the  siren's  voice 
was  in  his  ear.  Self-pity  had  unbound  all  his  resolution. 


THE  EAST  ROAD  DOWNWARD.  279 

The  flood  in  the  creek  afforded  him  a  pretext.  He  rode 
back  and  took  refuge  for  the  next  twenty-four  hours  in 
the  house  of  Kirtley,  while  he  waited  for  the  creek  to 
subside. 

Now  there  was  a  certain  foolish  man  that  builded  his 
house  upon  the  sand.  The  rains  descended,  and  the  floods 
<*,ame,  and  the  winds  blew  and  beat  upon  that  house. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

ROXY   AND   WHITTAKER. 

ROXY  was  not  one  of  those  who  nurse  a  sense  of  wrong 
and  keep  the  judgment  warped  by  anger.  The  life-long 
habit  of  looking  her  own  soul  in  the  face  saved  her  from 
this.  As  soon  as  the  first  tempest  of  her  wrath  was  over 
she  began  to  hold  a  drum-head  court-martial  on  herself. 
Here  is  the  difference  between  the  lapses  of  the  person  of 
high  tone  and  those  of  a  nature  relaxed  and  weak.  The 
test  of  moral  character  is  not  infallibility  but  recuperative 
power. 

Roxy  could  plainly  see  that  she  had  not  been  angrf 
without  cause.  But  then  her  anger  had  been  chiefly  about 
her  own  sufferings.  She  had  forgotten  Mark's  good  in  her 
regard  for  her  own  dignity.  So  the  court-martial  voted 
her  guilty.  Thus  while  Mark  rode  away  across  hill  and  hol 
low,  shifting  all  responsibility  to  his  wife,  Roxy  scourged 
herself  with  severity  all  that  long  j-ainy  day  for  her  lack  of 
self-control.  And  when  the  bitterest  bitterness  of  her  self- 
reproaches  was  spent,  she  awakened  suddenly  to  a  question 
ing  of  her  method  of  reforming  Mark.  Was  the  uncom 
promising  protest  so  much  urged  in  that  day  the  best? 
Had  she  not  lost  all  hold  on  Mark  ?  But  by  any  other 
plan  would  she  not  "  compromise  her  religion  "  and  "  deny 
her  Master "  ?  In  this  perplexity  she  saw  no  way  out. 
And  during  the  stormy  night  that  followed,  she  prayed  a 
hundred  times  for  Mark,  she  vowed  that  she  would  suffer 


ROXY  AND    WHITTAKER.  281 

any  affliction  herself  if  only  he  might  be  saved.  If  any 
sickness,  sorrow  or  death  inflicted  on  her  would  rescue 
him  she  would  receive  it  patiently.  Bat  prayers  are  nevei 
answered  as  people  expect  them  to  be.  The  Over-ruler 
works  in  his  own  way.  If  Roxy  could  have  seen  by  what 
way  the  future  would  give  what  she  prayed  for,  would 
ever  she  have  prayed  this  prayer  ?  I  cannot  say  she  would 
not,  for  now  all  the  enthusiasm  of  the  girl  Roxy  who 
picked  blackberries  for  the  poor,  of  the  religious  Boxy 
who  sought  to  save  souls  in  revivals,  of  the  saint  Roxy 
who  tended  with  soft  hands  the  sick,  of  the  missionary 
Roxy  who  wished  to  seek  the  lost  in  Texas,  centered  itself 
ill  the  all-consuming  desire  to  save  Mark.  Here  was  her 
mission-field  henceforth.  Why  had  she  missed  it  so  long  ? 
Out  of  that  sleepless  night  she  came  with  a  fixed  resolve, 
such  as  only  an  exalted  nature  can  persist  in. 

She  longed  now  to  see  Mark.  She  had  put  him  out  of 
the  place  of  a  husband  on  whom  she  had  claim  for  re 
ciprocal  duty,  into  that  of  an  object  of  missionary  enthusi 
asm  for  whom  she  would  endure  anything.  She  would 
be  patient,  cheerful,  uncomplaining.  She  was  determined 
to  find  some  way  in  heaven  or  earth  of  reaching  him. 
But  there  returned  to  her  the  old  dilemma.  She  must 
not  "  do  evil  that  good  might  come,"  and  would  it  not  be 
doing  evil  for  her  to  enter  at  all  into  Mark's  worldli- 
ness  ? 

She  could  not  think  of  any  one  with  whom  to  advise, 
Twonnet  seemed  such  a  child.  The  new  Methodist  min 
ister  was  almost  a  stranger,  and  she  could  not  confide  to 
him,  or  to  any  class-leader  or  "  mother  in  Israel,"  her 
troubles.  But  there  was  Whittaker.  lie  already  knew 
something  about  the  Kirtley  matter,  whatever  that  might 
be.  He  was  kind-hearted.  lie  had  loved  her  once  and 


282  ROXY. 

he  could  help  her.  She  thought  of  him  as  the  one  per 
son  to  whose  superior  moral  sense  she  could  commit  a  mat 
ter  of  conscience;  for  Mark's  words  about  him  and  the 
sudden  painful  contrast  she  had  felt  between  him  and  her 
husband  the  day  before  had  fixed  him  in  her  mind  as  the 
one  most  likely  to  see  rightly  in  a  question  of  duty.  Whit- 
taker  was  still  accustomed  to  call  at  her  father's,  and  she 
planned  at  first  to  meet  him  there,  but  her  natural  frank 
ness  made  her  hate  indirection  of  any  kind.  She  would 
not  do  right  as  though  she  were  doing  wrong.  Not  that 
she  thought  out  or  formulated  such  a  resolution, — women 
do  not  generally  do  that ;  but  she  felt  this  out  quickly. 

The  clouds  had  gone,  the  sun  shone  out  over  the  yellow 
ing  fields  of  corn,  and  the  vineyards  hanging  with  purple 
grapes,  while  E-oxy  wandered  about  her  house  in  doubt. 
The  hired  men  were  getting  ready  for  the  apple-gather 
ing  ;  the  hired  girl  was  busy  in  the  kitchen,  and  Roxy, 
uneasy,  sought  the  porch,  the  lawn,  the  lonesome  parlor, 
and  then  her  own  room,  trying  first  in  one  place  and  then 
in  another  to  settle  the  puzzling  questions  that  beset  her, 
but  never  for  a  moment  re-opening  the  question  settled 
by  the  solemnest  vow,  to  spend  herself  for  the  regenera 
tion  of  Mark.  This  ceasing  to  beat  aimlessly  against  cir 
cumstance, — this  finding  at  last  an  object  toward  which  to 
send  the  whole  force  of  her  nature,  brought  to  her  some 
thing  like  peace.  For  direct  and  concentrated  action  to 
ward  an  unselfish,  aim  was  the  condition  of  happiness  to 
her  temperament. 

There  were  yet  within  her  fountains  of  misery.  Re 
proaches  for  her  failure  to  see  her  way  earlier,  an  un 
defined  dread  of  irreparable  evil  from  the  quarrel  of  the 
day  before,  and  doubt  as  to  the  best  method  of  accom 
plishing  her  purpose,  all  troubled  her.  But  it  was  some- 


ROXY  AND    WH1TTAKER.  283 

thing  to  know  whither  she  meant  to  go.  Obstacles  almost 
exhilarate  a  brave  soul ;  they  are  made  for  the  joy  there 
is  in  overcoming  them.  Then,  too,  the  old  resentment^ 
toward  Mark — the  feeling  of  pride  sore-wounded  by  neg 
lect — was  almost  cured.  In  her  thoughts  her  husband  was 
hardly  any  longer  a  person  to  be  held  accountable  ;  he 
had  become  an  object.  For  the  intensely  serious  woman 
no  less  than  the  frivolous  woman  has  this  power  of  work 
ing  romantic  transformations  by  the  action  of  feeling  and 
imagination. 

Twonnet  came  in  the  middle  of  the  forenoon,  fresh  and 
blithe,  and  laughing  and  chaffing,  and  all  out  of  tune  with 
Roxy,  who  was  as  abstracted  as  a  penitent  in  a  cloister. 
Never  a  red-bird  sang  with  more  abandon  than  Twonnet 
talked  that  morning,  bent  on  driving  away  Roxy's  "  blues." 
But  at  last  she  gave  over. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Roxy?" 

Roxy's  awe-stricken  look  had  smitten  the  mercurial  girl 
with  a  great  horror  of  she  knew  not  what,  and  sent  the 
t  jars  into  her  eyes. 

"  Tell  me  what  is  the  matter  ? "  and  she  leaned  forward 
with  one  hand  clenched,  in  a  sudden  anxiety. 

Roxy  stretched  out  her  arms  to  her  friend,  but  answered 
not  a  word.  In  a  moment  the  two  were  in  a  silent  em 
brace.  Roxy  did  not  weep,  and  Twonnet,  oppressed  with 
awe  and  mystery,  did  not  dare  to  sob. 

After  a  long  while,  Roxy  said : 

"  Oh,  Twonnet,  I've  been  bad  !  " 

"  You've  been  bad  !  "  and  Twonnet  disengaged  herself 
and  looked  indignantly  at  her  friend. 

"  I've  been  selfish,  and  angry,  and  cross  to  Mark,  and 
I've  sent  him  away  angry,  and  I  don't  know  what  harm 
I've  done." 


284  ROXT. 

"  You  !  You're  been  good  and  patient,  and  I  wonder 
at  you  sometimes." 

"  Twonnet,  I  am  looking  for  some  dreadful  punish 
ment.  But  I  am  going  to  be  better.  I  don't  know  how. 
1  want  to  see  Mr.  Whittaker.  Nobody  else  can  help  me 
You  must  see  about  it." 

And  though  Twonnet  said  all  she  could  to  cheer  the 
other,  Roxy  was  silent  arid  fell  back  again  into  that  state 
of  solemn  abstraction  that  seemed  to  Twonnet  a  hopeless 
desolation.  Twonnet  went  home  to  see  Whittaker  and  to 
arrange  for  the  meeting  between  the  two. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Mr.  Whittaker,"  she  said,  "  I  am  sure 
there  is  some  trouble  in  that  family  that  will  not  be  easily 
settled.  Roxy  has  an  awful  look  in  her  face.  I  don't 
believe  they  two  can  get  on.  Now,  if  you  touch  it,  I'm 
afraid  you'll  be  talked  about  and  have  trouble.  Mark  is 
doing  badly  and  going  with  bad  company.  If  he  is  very 
mad  with  Roxy,  nobody  knows  what  may  be  said  about 
you." 

Whittaker  paced  the  floor  in  some  agitation.  Twonnet's 
words  had  come  to  have  weight  with  him,  and  he  was 
morbidly  sensitive  to  reproach. 

"  If  you  think  it  would  not  be  prudent,"  Twonnet  pro 
ceeded,  "  I  will  just  tell  Roxy  that  I  don't  think  it  best,  and 
get  you  out  of  it  the  best  I  can.  Roxy  is  very  reasonable." 

After  a  while,  Whittaker  said  : 

"  You  wouldn't  think  much  of  a  soldier,  Twonnet,  who 
would  run  away  from  danger.  Now,  a  minister  does  not 
have  to  face  bombshells,  but  slander.  It  is  his  business  to 
take  his  risks,  terrible  as  they  are.  Here's  a  woman  in 
some  grievous  trouble  who  wants  my  advice.  I'll  give  it 
if  I  am  shot  for  it.  I  don't  say  anything  about  her  bein^ 
an  old  friend.  Any  man  or  woman  who  asks  sympathy 


ROXY  AND    WHITTAKER.  285 

or  advice  from  a  minister  must  be  helped  at  all  hazards,  if 
the  minister  can  help.  The  light-house  keeper  must  not 
let  his  light  go  out  because  there's  a  storm.  The  question 
is  whether  I  shall  meet  Roxy  at  her  house,  at  her  father's, 
or  here.  You  know  better  than  I  do." 

"  Wat's  dat  you  zay  about  bombshells  ? "  broke  in  the 
old  grandfather,  in  a  red  cap,  sitting  near  at  hand,  catch 
ing  a  bit  of  autumn  sunshine  and  hearing  snatches  of  the 
talk  between  the  minister  arid  Twonnet.  "  It  was  vary 
eoorious— je  vous  dis — I  tell  you — wat  happeened  to  me, 
il  y  a  long  temps.  '  It  ees  now  feefty  year  ago."  And  he 
wandered  off  into  a  garrulous  story  of  military  adventure, 
at  the  close  of  which  Twonnet  had  made  up  her  mind  that 
Roxy  must  come  up  with  her  that  very  afternoon  and  meet 
Whittaker  in  the  Lefaures'  house. 

When  at  last  they  sat  together  in  the  parlor  of  the  old 
long  house,  the  Swiss  clock  ticking  softly  on  the  wall, 
Roxy  had  still  her  awe-stricken  look,  with  a  look  of  in 
ternal  conflict  superadded.  For  there  is  that  in  the  cool 
reserve  of  a  New  Englander  that  damps  the  more  demon 
strative  Westerner.  Whittaker's  silence  oppressed  Roxy. 
Twonnet  had  disappeared  on  some  pretext,  and  the  two 
were  alone  with  only  the  solemn,  regular,  conscience-like 
old  clock  for  third  party  and  witness. 

And  as  Roxy  sat  thus  looking  out  at  the  grass  and  the 
shrivelling  dog-fennel  of  the  street,  did  she  remember  the 
time  when  once  before  she  looked  out  of  another  window 
in  embarrassment  rather  than  face  Mr.  Whittaker  ?  Whit- 
taker  remembered,  and  it  was  in  part  this  memory  and 
the  feelings  excited  by  it  that  gave  him  his  air  of  reserve. 
Roxy  looked  out  of  the  window  a  long  while  ;  then  she 
bit  her  quivering  lip  and  sighed,  and  then  relapsed  into 
looking  out  of  the  window. 


286  ROXT. 

"  I'm  afraid,"  she  said,  at  last — and  then  she  did  not 
finish,  for  Mr.  Whittaker  sat  there  waiting  for  her  to 
begin,  and  she  thought  it  unkind  that  he  should  be  so 
silent  and  open  no  way  for  her  to  speak. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  done  wrong  to  trouble  you,"  she 
said,  after  a  long  time. 

"  My  dear  madam — my  dear  friend,"  said  Whittaker, 
earnestly,  "  I  only  wish  I  could  be  of  service  to  you." 

When  a  self-contained  man  does  speak  with  feeling  his 
words  have  extraordinary  force  by  contrast  with  the  back 
ground  of  habitual  reserve.  Roxy's  tears  now  ran  down 
her  face  unchecked. 

"  1  have  been  bad.  You  must  not  expect  me  to  ex 
plain.  1  can't  tell  you  all.  I  might  excuse  myself, 
but  I  will  not,  for  I  deserve  to  have  you  think  me 
wicked.  1  have  been  selfish,  angry,  and  harsh  to  my 
husband.  I  have  done  harm,  though,  indeed,  I  wanted 
to  be  good." 

Whittaker  did  not  check  this  strain  of  self-reproach. 
Penitence  is  God's  own  medicine. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you.  I  needn't  tell  you  that  God  is 
sorry  for  you  also." 

u  I  know  that.  The  past  is  past.  I  am  ashamed  of  it. 
God  can  forgive  me ;  but,  then,  the  harm  I  have  done  ia 
done,  and  I  can  never  undo  it.  But  I  cannot  tell  you  any 
more  about  it." 

"  Don't  tell  me  anything.  You  may  be  too  severe  with 
yourself,  and  you  owe  it  to  your  husband  to  tell  me  as 
little  as  possible  of  your  domestic  life.  At  any  rate,  we 
cannot  undo  the  past,  and  it  will  only  embarrass  you  and 
me  both  for  me  to  know  what  you  shrink  from  disclosing. 
Tell  me  only  what  is  necessary." 

Is  it  wonderful  or  blameworthy  that  Roxy  noted  this 


ROXY  AND    WHITTAKEH  287 

thoughtf illness,  and  wondered  at  the  difference  between 
Whittaker  and  Mark?     But  she  said,  eagerly : 

"  1  want  to  bring  my  husband  to  a  better  state.  He  is 
not — bad — but  then  his  company  is  not  good,  and  he  is 
not  going — quite — quite  as  I  wish  he  would.  And  I've 
been  very  hard  and  willful  and  angry  in  my  efforts  to 
bring  him  back.  And  I've  done  harm." 

"  And  you  want  to  undo  it." 

"  Yes,  and  I  want  to  undo  all  the  harm,  and  bring 
Mark  back  to — to  what  he  ought  to  be." 

"  Then  take  Christ's  way." 

"  What's  that  ?  Do  you  mean  to  suffer  for  him  ?  1 
am  sure  now  that  I  see  my  sin,  I  would  die  for  him." 

Whittaker  shook  himself  in  a  negativing  way.  When 
lie  had  a  practical  difficulty  to  deal  with,  he  instinctively 
shook  off  all  theological  ways  of  thinking,  and  all  the 
phraseology  of  the  schools,  putting  to  work  only  the 
shrewd  mother-wit  that  he  had  got  from  a  long  line  of 
shrewd  and  hard-working  New  England  ancestors.  He 
helped  a  soul  out  of  difficulty  with  the  same  practical 
judgment  that  his  grandfather  had  used  in  sailing  a  whale- 
ship  in  a  storm.  So  now  when  Roxy  talked  about  dying 
for  Mark,  he  gave  himself  a  little  twitch,  as  though  he 
would  dissipate  all  theories.  With  that  gesture  he  shook 
off  the  student  and  the  theologian,  and  brought  out  the 
shrewd  Yankee  below. 

"  I  don't  mean  that,  Mrs.  Bonamy — Roxy.  Did  you  ever 
notice  that  Christ  was  wise  in  a  practical  way, — was  what 
yon  Western  people  call  c  a  good  manager  '  I " 

.Roxy  looked  up  suddenly,  the  old  intelligent  wonder 
coming  back  into  her  eyes. 

"  Christ  got  people  to  love  him  first.  That  is  the  first 
thing.  He  made  the  publicans  love  him  by  going  to  din- 


238  noxr. 


ncr  v»rith  them  ;  ha  made  the  woman  that  was  a  sinner  love 
him.  She  loved  much.  When  they  loved  him,  he  could 
save  them." 

Just  here  some  theological  and  systemic  doubts  arose  in 
the  minister's  mind,  but  he  gave  another  impatient  twitch, 
and  the  practical  man  kept  the  systematic  theology  in  abey 
ance. 

"  Yes,"  said  Hoxy.  "  I  saw  the  necessity  for  that  this 
morning.  Now  there's  my  difficulty.  If  I  try  to  regain  my 
husband  by  that  means,  I  must  enter  into  his  pursuits. 
Thev  don't  seem  ri^ht  to  me.  You  know  what  Paul  savs 

*/  O  t/ 

about  partaking  in  other  men's  sins.  Would  I  be  doing 
evil  that  good  may  come  ?  Would  I  be  compromising  my 
religions  principles  \ " 

"  I  can  see  that  you  have  been  very  wrong, — very  wrong." 

Roxy  was  a  little  hurt  with  this  sharp  rebuke. 

Whittaker  gave  his  theological  self  a  good  shaking,  and 
then  resumed  : 

"  Now  let  us  be  practical.  If  your  husband  were  down 
in  a  pit  and  you  wanted  to  get  him  out,  you  would  put  a 
ladder  down  to  him  ;  you'd  go  down  to  help  him,  if  he 
needed  help.  You  wouldn't  compromise  the  daylight  by 
such  an  action.  Unless  you  succeed  in  establishing  a 
ground  of  sympathy  between  him  and  you,  you  can't  help 
him.  Put  down  a  ladder.  It  don't  do  to  philosophize 
too  much  about  a  practical  matter.  Use  Scripture  where 
Scripture  applies,  and  common  sense  in  matters  that  need 
common  sense.  God  gave  common  sense,  and  it  is  divine 
also."  Here  Whittaker  paused.  He  was  astonished  at 
his  own  words.  The  position  he  was  taking  was  a  new 
one,  forced  on  him  by  the  difficulties  presented  to  him. 
Nor  could  he  have  applied  these  principles  to  scruples  of 
his  own. 


BOXY  AND    WHITTAKER.  289 

"Don't  do  anything  wrong,"  he  went  on,  after  a 
moment.  "  But  when  your  husband  loved  you  first,  your 
feelings  toward  him  were  different  from  what  they  are 
now?" 

"  I  admired  him  greatly."     Roxy's  eyes  were  downcast 

"Surely  there  is  much  to  admire  now  in  Mr.  Bonamy. 
His  nature  is  not  on  so  high  a  key  as  yours,  perhaps,  and 
you  have  judged  him  by  your  standard;  you  have  been 
hard.  Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

Eoxy  bit  her  lip,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  You  could  praise  your  husband  for  a  great  many- 
things.  The  world  appreciates  his  gifts.  Only  at  home! 
he  has  been  chilled  by  censure.  I  think  he  is  a  man  who; 
craves  approval." 

Roxy  was  now  sobbing  audibly  and  bitterly  with  her 
head  between  her  hands. 

"  I  should  make  the  mistake  I  am  warning  you  against 
if  I  didn't  say — Roxy — my  dear,  good  friend — that  your 
mistaken  severity  comes  from  the  nobleness  of  your  char 
acter.  Your  errors  are  on  that  side." 

Roxy,  when  she  perceived  that  Whittaker  had  finished 
and  was  silent,  picked  up  the  sunbonnet  she  had  worn  and 
drew  it  down  over  her  eyes  so  as  to  hide  her  tear-stained 
face.  In  her  heart  she  thanked  him,  but  her  lips  spoke 
not.  She  held  out  her  hand  and  he  took  it.  Then  for  the 
first  time  she  saw  that  he  had  been  weeping  also.  But  he 
only  said  as  he  held  her  hand : 

"  '  Ye  that  are  strong  ought  also  to  bear  the  infirmities 
of  the  weak.'  " 

"  Don't  think  badly  of  my  husband,"  Roxy  said  with  a 
woman's  pride,  as  she  paused  on  the  threshold.  "  He  id 
real  good  in  a  great  many  things." 

"  Don't  forget  to  tell  him  so." 
13 


CHAPTER  XLL 

THE   ENEMY. 

V 

TRITE  sayings  are  often  trite  because  tuey  are  BO  very 
true.  It  is  very  trite  and  true  also  that  many  good  pi  ana 
have  the  fatal  defect  of  being  adopted  too  late.  If  Roxy 
had  begun  a  year  or  a  week  sooner  to  prop  Mark's  house 
upon  the  sand  with  sympathetic  kindness,  it  might  have 
escaped  its  disastrous  fate.  But  it  might  have  fallen 
sooner  or  later  in  some  way.  Ruin  is  the  only  cure  for  ruin 
with  some  people ;  there  is  nothing  but  the  recoil  that 
comes  of  disgrace  that  will  save  a  man  of  vanity  and 
egotism.  It  is  better  that  the  ill-founded  house  should  be 
utterly  swept  away,  perhaps.  Patching  will  not  save  it. 

Roxy's  kindness  to  Mark  on  his  return,  and  her  sincere 
endeavor  to  enter  into  sympathy  with  some  of  his  aims  and 
plans,  only  served  to  make  him  uncomfortable.  Mark's 
guilty  consciousness  wanted  an  opiate — there  is  no  lethe 
like  self-pity  ;  if  Roxy  had  been  severe  with  him  he  might 
have  stilled  his  remorse  with  a  Rip  Van  Winkle  persuasion 
that  his  wife's  austerity  and  not  his  own  laxity  drove  him 
into  sin.  If  he  could  have  persuaded  himself  that  he  was 
an  irresponsible  waif,  beaten  upon  and  driven  of  domestic 
storms,  he  might  have  been  tolerably  comfortable.  He 
world  have  been  quits  with  Roxy.  But  now  that  she  gave 
him  appreciation  of  his  gifts  and  praise  of  his  generous 
qua!  ities,  his  old  love  for  her — the  best  passion  of  his  life — 
revived  and  he  felt  a  shame  to  have  sinned  against  her. 


THE  ENEMY.  29  J 

Uw  consciously  he  sometimes  tried  to  provoke  her  to  speak 
the  angry  words  which  would  have  been  a  relief  to  him. 
But  though  he  could  make  her  face  flush  with  indignation, 

<D  O  * 

he  could  not  draw  from  her  lips  a  reproach.  The  power 
of  Roxy's  persistent  resolution  was  dominant  over  her 
temper.  She  might  cry  her  eyes  out  over  his  unkind  worda 
when  he  was  gone.  But  her  vow  kept  guard  over  her  lips. 
And  she  found  a  certain  peace  in  the  struggle.  She  was 
born  for  hard  tasks,  and  now  as  Bobo,  grown  but  little 
taller  in  these  years,  went  about  the  yard  with  a  hundred 
chickens  at  his  heels,  he  was  sometimes  surprised  and 
delighted  to  meet  E-oxy  with  a  momentary  gleam  of  the 
old  gladness  in  her  face :  it  was  when  she  thought  she  wag 
really  beginning  to  win  back  her  husband  to  old  states  of 
feeling. 

Poor  Bobo,  to  whom  Roxy's  face  was  as  the  face  of  God, 
was  so  pleased  to  get  a  glimmer  of  sunshine  from  her  that 
he  would  forthwith  fill  his  pockets  with  chicken  feed  a^nd 
give  his  followers  an  extra  treat,  scattering  the  food  so  that 
all  should  have  some, — that  all  of  them  might  be  happy 
like  himself.  He  had  improved  much  in  mind  under 
Roxy's  care.  He  repeated  long  strings  of  poetry  with  con 
siderable  appreciation  of  its  meaning,  and  he  could  make 
himself  useful  in  many  things.  But  he  could  never  be 
taught  to  give  his  bounty  to  dumb  creatures  otherwise  than 
lavishly,  and  it  was  a  most  thriftless,  lazy  and  unscratching 
set  of  chickens  that  he  fed.  The  corn  in  the  barn  had  to 
be  kept  out  of  his  sight  lest  through  his  kindness  the 
horses  should  be  foundered,  or  the  cows  die  of  colic,  or  the 
pigs  grow  fat  before  the  time  of  execution. 

Mark  grew  less  and  less  remorseful  as  the  weeks  passed 
by  He  had,  both  from  nature  and  training,  a  great  power 
of  forgetting  unpleasant  things — the  most  dangerous  of 


292  ROX7. 

mental  tendencies.  A  corrupt  memory  can  defeat  a  toler 
ably  vigorous  conscience.  But  remorse  does  not  generally 
come  of  successful  and  undetected  sin.  It  was  not  David's 
guilt  that  brought  forth  David's  repentance,  but  the  detec- 
tion  of  his  sin  and  the  disasters,  in  which  he  was  involved. 
As  the  autumn  seared  and  browned  and  grayed  at  last  into 
winter,  Mark  came  to  something  of  his  old  complacency. 
Forge tf  ulness  filled  the  place  of  forgiveness ;  his  prospects 
for  political  promotion  improved,  and,  more  than  all,  Roxy 
had  come  to  see  the  error  of  her  ways  and  was  in  active 
sympathy  with  his  aims,  only  reserving  the  right  to  check 
and  correct  him  in  matters  of  detail.  A  man  cannot  be 
very  guilty  with  whom  all  goes  so  prosperously. 

It  was  only  when  one  day  old  Gideon  Kirtley  came  to 
town  and  held  a  private  conversation  with  Mark  that  he 
was  awakened  from  this  forgetfulness  of  his  crime.  Evil 
done  and  out  of  mind  has  a  way  of  starting  up  thus  in  a 
man's  most  peaceful  and  prosperous  moments,  as  though 
Retribution  were  fond  of  making  her  entrance  dramatical. 
To  have  a  crime  against  law  and  society  charged  upon  one 
just  when  the  prize  of  ambition  hangs  low  within  reach  is 
the  realization  of  the  doom  of  Tantalus.  It  was  easy  to 
quiet  the  old  man  for  the  present  with  money  and  fair 
promises,  but  Bonamy's  security  was  fairly  shaken  out  of 
him.  Ashamed  and  terror-stricken  in  Roxy's  presence, 
she  found  him  sometimes  moody  and  silent.  He  knew  that 
JSTancy  would  not  be  easily  kept  still,  and  that  she  would 
especially  delight  to  torment  Roxy.  He  must  make  a  way 
of  sending  Nancy  out  of  the  country  at  all  hazards,  and  he 
was  i?ot  sure  that  any  inducement  would  be  sufficient  to  get 
her  away.  She  was  too  fond  of  plaguing  people  to  be 
willing  to  forego  a  particle  of  her  revenge.  Money  was  nc 
equivalent  to  her  for  the  luxury  of  "getting  even." 


THE  ENEMY.  293 

Mark  knew  that  he  must  sooner  or  later  h&ve  an  ally  in 
this  desperate  game  of  concealment.  But  who  should  it 
be?  His  brother-in-law,  Barlow,  was  his  chief  politica. 
friend,  and  was  very  handy  in  fixing  up  bad  cases.  But 
then  he  could  not  bear  to  have  Amanda  by  any  chance 
knoiv  his  secret.  And,  moreover,  he  distrusted  Barlow. 
His  brother-in-law  was  in  business  and  politics  a  rival,  and 
he  did  not  feel  sure  that,  between  Barlow's  rivalry  with  him 
self  and  Amanda's  jealousy  of  Roxy,  Ben  might  not  think 
it  best  to  push  himself  for  Congress.  At  all  events,  he  did 
not  choose  that  Barlow  should  have  so  much  leverage  as  the 
knowledge  of  his  affair  with  the  Kirtleys  would  give  him. 

But  there  was  no  time  to  debate.  One  night  in  Decem 
ber,  as  Mark  was  crossing  the  common  toward  his  own 
house,  lie  was  confronted  by  Nancy  herself.  After  a  great 
deal  of  preliminary  abuse,  she  came  out  with : 

"  Now,  what  you  goin'  to  do  about  it?  " 

"  Whatever  you  say.  If  you  keep  still  and  don't  make 
a  fuss,  I'll  do  whatever  you  think  I  ought  to  do." 

"  Wy>  you  jest  sell  out  and  take  me  and  slope,  an'  leave 
the  Adams  girl  here.  I  haint  a-goin'  to  be  laughed  at  by 
all  the  fools  on  Rocky  Fork  ;  they  haint  no  money,  nor 
nothiii  '11  satisfy  me  but  jest  one  thing.  I'm  goin'  to  git 
square  with  her" 

Mark  trembled  at  the  fiery  unreason  of  the  creature. 
It  was  then  a  wfid  beast  into  whose  power  he  had  put 
himself.  In  his  first  dash  of  dismay  he  felt  all  the  hope 
lessness  of  the  case.  Could  one  compromise  with  an  in 
furiated  tiger? 

'•  What  has  she  done,  poor  thing,  that  you  want  to  break 
her  heart  ?  "  he  said,  pointing  on  toward  his  own  houset 
with  a  shudder. 

"  Her  ?     What  has  she  done  ?     1  had   orto   been  thair, 


294 

She  stole  you,  and  I  am  straight  on  the  road  nc  w  to  git  even 
I  always  git  even,  I  do.  Break  her  heart,  hey  ?  Wouldn't 
I  jest  like  to  break  it !  That's  what  I'm  goin*  to  do. 
You  hadn't  no  business  to  leave  me  an'  take  her.  I'm 
gittin'  even  weth  her  now.  And  you  jest  back  out  a  inch 
from  what  I  say,  and  then  I'll  git  even  weth  you,  too,  01 
my  name  haint  Kirtley  !  " 

"  Well,  Nancy,"  said  Bonamy,  seeing  how  useless  it  waa 
to  enrage  her  with  remonstrances,  "  you  must  give  me  time 
to  see  about  things.  I  can't  say  what  I  ought  to  do." 

"  Oh,  they's  time  enough,  but  they's  only  jest  one  thing 
to  do.  Me  an'  you's  goin'  to  Texas  this  time,  instid  of  her 
an'  you.  That's  all  they  is  of  it.  I  swore  I'd  be  even 
weth  her,  and  it'll  soon  be  square,  one  way  or  t'other.  Ei 
you  go  weth  me,  it'll  be  all  square  with  her,  and  Fll  be 
satisfied.  Ef  you  don't  go  weth  me,  I  know  more  ways  'an 
one  of  gittin'  square  weth  you,  dog  on  you  !  The  ole  man 
says  I  kin  make  you  pony  han'some,  anyhow  ;  and  then  he 
Bays  you  wont  be  elected  ;  an'  then  he  says  as  he'll  have 
you  took  up  and  sent  to  penitentiary;  and,  besides  all  that, 
I've  on'y  got  to  give  the  nod  to  Jim  McGowan.  Jim's  a 
dead  shot,  an'  he'll  foller  you  all  over  creation  weth  that 
rifle  o'  his'n.  But  I  haint  got  no  gredge  ag'in  you,  ef  you 
do  the  fa'r  thing.  But  I'm  even  weth  her,  any  ways  you 
kin  fix  it." 

She  shook  her  fist  a  moment  in  gesticulation,  as  she 
turned  away  and  started  toward  the  village.  Mark  heard 
her  low  whinny  of  exultation  as  he  lost  sight  of  her  form 
in  the  darkness.  lie  thought  of  the  old  tales  of  men  who 
had  bargained  with  the  devil.  Satan  had  come  now  to 
foreclose  the  bond,  and  it  was  too  late  to  rue  his  engage 
ment. 

There  is  n  D  magnanimity  in  conscience  \  it  is  prone  to 


THE  ENEMY.  295 

take  us  at  disadvantage.  It  always  wields  its  whip  of  scor 
pions  when  the  soul  is  scourged  by  outward  circumstance. 
Mark  found  no  cushion  of  self-pity,  no  couch  of  self-conceit, 
on  which  to  rest  that  night.  Half  a  dozen  times  he  thought 
of  confessing  to  Roxy.  Her  severity  was  terrible  to  him  : 
lie  siirknk  from  putting  his  crime  in  the  light  of  her  con 
science  ;  but  there  were  moments  when  it  would  have  been 
a  relief  to  hear  her  sharpest  condemnation.  Any  outward 
chastisement  would  have  numbed  a  little  the  inward  re 
morse.  On  the  other  hand,  he  did  not  know  what  Roxy 
would  do  in  case  he  told  her.  Would  she  die  of  shame  and 
grief?  Would  she  leave  him  ?  Would  he  ever  be  able  to 
look  her  in  the  face  again  \  There  were  but  two  roads 
open, — to  throw  himself  on  the  pity  of  Roxy  and  take  her 
counsel,  or  to  seek  advice  of  Lathers.  The  alternative 
was  like  one  between  God  and  devil. 

.But  Roxy's  very  nobleness  held  him  back.  He  knew 
that  in  her  there  was  no  weakness  that  could  make  her 
look  with  allowance  on  his  sin.  He  could  not  lay  it  bare 
to  her. 

There  is  always  a  question  when  a  man  lias  fallen  low 
whether  or  not  he  will  rise  again.  Ic  is  a  question  of  moral 
reaction.  There  is  all  the  difference  in  the  world  between 
Herod,  whose  terror-stricken  conscience  plunges  him  ever 
deeper  into  crime,  and  David,  who,  out  of  the  mi  re,  climbs 
up  the  ladder  of  bitter  contrition,  and  heartbreak,  and 
shame,  into  the  clean  daylight  once  more.  Mark's  con 
science  smote  him  sore,  but  there  was  no  fifty-first  psalm  ir 
him.  His  vanity  made  him  a  coward.  His  habit  of  avoid 
ing  trouble  made  him  evade  the  penance  of  a  confession. 
After  a  sleepless  night  and  a  moody  morning,  which  threw 
Roxy  into  the  utmost  consternation,  he  went  to  consult 
Lathers. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

COUNSEL,  AND  THE  RESULT. 

EVET*  to  Lathers,  whose  moral  sense  was  net  keen,  Marfe 
had  mujh  shame  in  confessing  his  trouble  and  seeing  the 
"  I  told  you  so "  look  on  the  major's  foxy  face.  But 
Booamy  was  a  little  shocked  at  the  unmoral  view  Lathera 
took  of  this  question  as  of  every  other."  Major  Lathera 
could  appreciate  the  embarrassment  of  a  man  who  wished 
to  avoid  domestic  jealousy  and  unpleasantness ;  he  could 
understand  the  annoyance  of  an  aspirant  for  Congress 
against  whom  an  escapade  of  the  sort  might  be  used  with 
over-pious  and  sanctimonious  people,  and  he  could  under 
stand  the  danger  of  legal  difficulties,  and  above  all  the 
ugliness  of  the  muzzle  of  Jim  McGowan's  rifle,  but  Bon- 
amy's  remorse  was  a  riddle  to  him.  And  Mark  was  not 
made  easy  by  the  coolness  with  which  Lathers  "  pooh- 
poohed  "  all  that  ;  in  his  present  state  of  mind  it  reacted 
upon  his  awakened  moral  sense. 

The  sheriff  was  very  willing  to  help  Bonamy.  It  was 
convenient  to  have  a  "purchase,"  as  he  would  have  said, 
on  the  coining  Congressman.  He  undertook  to  see  tlu 
Kirtleys  and  by  one  device  or  another  to  keep  them  quiet 
He  winked  his  eye  at  Mark  and  said  he  knew  how  to  be  on 
both  sides  of  a  question.  "  He'd  git  the  Kirtleys  to  make 
him  their  friend  and  he'd  play  that  part  on  Rocky  Fork," 
This  dishonesty  Bonamy  was  glad  to  have  on  his  side3 
but  the  forebodings  he  had  of  failure  made  him  wish  tha4 


COUNSEL,  AND  THE  MESULT.  297 

he  had  courage  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  severe  Roxy 
rather  than  of  the  lax  Lathers.  His  future  position,  shel 
tered  and  delivered  by  Lathe rs's  artifices  and  at  the  mercy 
of  Lathers's  fidelity,  was  a  galling  one  to  him.  Lathers 
had  a  good  many  other  devices  for  intimidating  and  con 
ciliating  the  Kirtleys  which  he  did  not  trust  to  Mark,  and 
he  saw  also  some  possibilities  of  serving  himself.  As  to 
the  domestic  difficulty,  Bonamy  had  not  asked  his  advice, 
but  Lathers  volunteered  counsel.  He  knew  something 
about  managing  wives.  It  was  well  to  have  "  a  purchase 
and  the  like."  If  you  owe  a  man,  it's  a  good  thing  to  have 
a  claim  to  offset  with. 

Here  he  paused  a  while  and  looked  inquiringly  at 
Mark. 

"  Now  ef  your  wife's  got  a  lien  onto  you,  she's  goin'  to 
use  it,  an'  that  gives  her  the  upper  hand,  and  the  like. 
And  it's  bad  to  have  the  ole  woman  have  the  upper  hand, 
you  see.  It  deranges  things,  you  know." 

Here  another  pause  and  a  look  at  Mark  that  provoked 
him  more  that  he  dared  to  show.  What  right  had  Lathers 
or  such  as  he  to  discuss  Roxy  ?  Who  had  given  him  this 
freedom  ?  Here  came  again  conscience,  cruel  and  ever 
waiting  its  advantage.  Who  indeed,  but  Mark  himself, 
had  thus  made  his  domestic  life  free  to  the  trampling 
hoofs  of  Torn  Lathers  ?  Roxy  was  henceforth  an  element 
that  Lathers,  as  Mark's  private  adviser,  might  weigh  and 
consider.  It  made  Bonamy  grind  his  teeth  with  remorse 
and  wounded  pride  that  Roxy  should  be  alluded  to  at  all. 
But  a  new  and  dreadful  vision  opened  to  him.  If  he 
should  lose  the  support  of  Lathers,  Roxy's  name  might  be 
come  common  and  conspicuous  to  every  street  loafer  in 
Luzerne. 

"  Now,"  res'imed  'Lathers,  "  I  'low  you've  got  an  offset.'' 

liJ* 


298  110XT. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  asked  Maik,  trying  to  keep  hk 
voice  down  to  a  peaceful  pitch. 

Lathers  was  hot  in  haste  to  reply.  He  called  Bonamy's 
attention  to  the  fact  that  he  lived  nearly  opposite  to  Le- 
faure's.  Then  he  stopped.  But  Mark  did  not  trust  him 
self  to  ask  a  question,  so  that  Lathers  was  forced  to  pro 
ceed  on  his  own  motion. 

"  Well,  the  day  after  you  started  to  Republican  meet 
ing-house,  last  September,  I  see  Mrs.  Bonamy  go  in  at 
Le  fan  re's." 

u  Well,  what  of  that?"  said  Mark,  with  his  teeth  shut  tight. 

"  Well,  I  see  her  shakin'  hands  with  Whittaker  when 
she  come  out  the  door.  There  wa'n't  no  one  with  him 
when  he  told  her  good-bye.  That's  a  start  for  an  offset." 

Mark  swore  a  savage  oath  and  got  to  his  feet. 

"  Lathers,  you  are  a  brute.  You're  a  spy  and  a  tattler  1 
My  wife's  badly  off  married  to  me,  God  knows.  But  to 

have  you  say  a  word  against  her "  and  here  Bonamy 

burst  into  another  fit  of  swearing. 

"  Purty  lively  cussin',  that,  fer  a  missionary  an'  the  like, 
Mark,"  sneered  the  major.  "  Ef  I'd  'a'  knowed  you  was 
on  t'other  side,  sonny,  I  wouldn't  'a'  la'nched  out  into  this 
case.  You  can  settle  weth  the  Kirtleys  yerself,  liker'n 
not.  I  think  I'll  give  it  up.  I  don't  like  to  be  swore  at 
that  a-way.  I  haint  accustomed  to  it,  and  my  constitu 
tion's  weakened  by  fever  V  ager  late  years,  so  as  I  can't 
stand  quite  so  much  swearin'  at  as  I  could  wunst." 

"  I  am  sorry,  Major;  I  didn't  mean  to  quarrel  with  you, 
but  I  lost  my  temper.  Only  don't  let's  say  any  more  about 
my  wife.  This  thing  Ml  kill  her.  You've  got  to  help  me 
out.  I  can't  get  on  without  you."  Abject  fear  of  ex 
posure  had  made  Mark  a  coward  in  tie  presence  of  the 
man  into  whose  power  he  had  put  himself. 


COUNSEL,  AND   THE  RESULT.  299 

The  major  looked  pityingly  at  Bonamy,  who  sat  down 
again,  as  he  might  have  looked  on  a  simpleton.  He  ac 
cepted  the  apology,  anl  daring  the  rest  of  the  interview 
he  kept  off  the  question  of  domestic  management.  How 
ever,  he  was  nettled  by  Bonamy's  outburst,  and  when  the 
latter  had  gone,  he  said  to  himself : 

"  May  be  I'll  take  a  notion  to  make  him  swear  worse 
when  Fin  done.  May  be  I'll  learn  him  some  manners. 
I've  got  the  say  about  Congressman  and  the  like,  this 
time.  Bonamy's  too  young.  The  law'll  barely  let  him  in. 
And  I  don't  like  to  be  called  a  brute,  and  a  tattler,  and 
the  like,  and  a  spy,  though  I  do  keep  my  eyes  peeled  as 
well  as  the  next  man.  Nobody  knows  what  information 
may  turn  out  to  be  valooble.  Mark  '11  cuss;  but  he'll  think 
about  my  words,  and  he'll  take  a  turn,  fer  all  his  high 
tone.  That  high  tone's  all  they  is  left  of  the  missionary 
fever,  i  'low.  Though  now,  to  be  shore,  the  ole  colonel 
was  powerful  high-toned  on  some  sides,  and  powerful  low- 
toned  on  others.  Runs  in  the  blood  like,  may  be." 

A.S  for  Bonamy,  now  that  he  felt  relieved  by  the  inter 
vention  of  the  shrewd  Lathers  in  the  affair,  he  became  a 
little  more  easy  in  regard  to  the  result.  He  even  thought  of 
himself  with  pity,  as  a  man  driven  by  evil  circumstances. 
If  Roxy  hadn't  have  been  cross,  he  might  have  got  along. 

But  he  also  came  to  be  more  and  more  troubled,  as  the 
days  went  by,  with  what  Lathers  had  said  about  Roxy. 
There  was  nothing  strange  about  her  going  up  to  Le- 
faure's,  though  since  her  marriage  the  visiting  had,  bj 
mutual  consent,  been  done  chiefly  by  Twonnet.  What 
troubled  Mark  was  that  his  wife  had  gone  while  he  was 
away,  and  immediately  after  a  very  bitter  quarrel  between 
them.  If  what  Lathers  had  told  him  were  true,  she  had 
probably  held  a  consultation  with  Whittaker  alone.  There 


300 

had  been  an  unaccountable  change  in  her  manner  toward 
him  on  his  return.  What  mystery  was  there  between 
Roxy  and  her  former  lover  ?  In  his  heart  Mark  did  not, 
suspect  her  of  wrong ;  but  in  his  haunted  and  evil  con 
dition  of  mind  everything  seemed  to  wear  a  look  inimical 
to  him.  He  hated  to  think  of  Whittaker  as  in  possible 
contrast  with  himself  in  Eoxy's  mind.  Had  Eoxy  taken  to 
conferences  with  people  about  him  ?  Sometimes  he  wa? 
vaguely  afraid  ;  sometimes  vaguely  jealous  ;  sometimes 
heartily  ashamed  of  both  feelings.  It  resulted  from  this 
complexity  and  from  his  own  remorseful  restlessness  and 
irritability,  that  he  treated  Hoxy  often  with  harshness,  and 
again  with  the  utmost  deference.  Sometimes  she  caught 
him  watching  her  furtively,  as  though  seeking  to  pene 
trate  some  mystery. 

Puzzling  herself  day  and  night  to  guess  out  the  cause  of 
her  husband's  strange  capriciousness,  Roxy  invented  every 
possible  hypothesis  about  the  state  of  his  affairs ;  but  in 
none  of  them  could  she  find  a  reason  for  the  concealment 
from  her  of  the  cause  of  his  trouble.  If  he  had  gambling 
debts,  she  thought,  he  might  be  secretive  ;  but  then  he  did 
not  seem  to  lack  money.  His  political  prospects  were 
good  ;  and,  had  the  case  been  otherwise,  she  felt  sure, 
from  what  she  knew  of  the  quick  reactions  of  Mark's 
mercurial  temperament,  that  a  chance  for  defeat  would 
not  disturb  him  so  much.  Sometimes  the  shadow  of  the 
dark  Kirtley  girl  troubled  her  thoughts ;  but  she  had 
heard  nothing  of  that  affair  since  the  day  her  father-in-law 
had  twitted  Mark  with  it,  and  it  had  receded  into  the 
background,  as  a  thing  unreal  or  insignificant. 

At  last  something  in  Mark's  manner  led  her  to  think 
that  she  might  herself  be  the  cause  of  his  trouble.  Clearly 
she  was  making  no  percept 'ble  headway  in  the  great  pur- 


COUNSEL,  AND  THE  RESULT,  301 

pose  to  which  she  had  given  herself.  There  were  signs 
that  Mark's  habits  were  not  growing  better,  but  *rorse. 
She  determined  at  last  to  make  a  bold  attack. 

So  one  night,  when  Mark  came  home,  he  found  her  sit 
ting  alone  by  the  fire,  waiting  for  him.  She  had  every 
thing  arranged  for  his  comfort,  and  Bonamy  was  angry, 
because  he  knew  that  she  would  be  disappointed  in  her 
hope  of  winning  him  to  cheerfulness.  He  had  just  heard 
from  Lathers  in  regard  to  the  progress  of  the  Kirtley  busi 
ness  ;  and,  while  Lathers  had  gained  delay,  he  gave  Mark 
little  hope  of  anything  but  a  respite.  So  the  husband 
gloomily  sttt  down  in  the  rocking-chair  set  for  him,  and 
looked  into  the  fire,  answering  the  wife's  questions  mood 
ily,  saying  he  was  worried,  didn't  want  to  talk  business  at 
home,  and  wished  she  wouldn't  ask  any  more  questions. 
This  last  was  spoken  somewhat  tartly. 

"  But,  Mark,  we  can't  go  on  living  this  way.  For  two 
or  three  months  you've  been  troubled  about  something. 
I've  been  waiting  for  your  own  time  to  tell  me.  Now,  1 
can't  stand  it  any  longer.  Wont  you  tell  me  now  ? " 

There  came  a  sudden  impulse  to  Bonamy  to  seize  this 
chance  to  begin  the  right  course  at  all  costs,  by  a  frank 
confession.  But  the  way  of  contrition — the  hard  road 
back  out  of  this  tangled  and  briery  maze  of  wrong-doing 
— seemed  so  long  and  severe  1  All  the  weakness  engen 
dered  by  a  life-long  habit  of  self-indulgence  and  the 
evasion  of  unpleasant  tasks  came  over  him.  He  said  to 
himself  that  he  could  not.  It  might  kill  her  to  hear  it. 
What  would  be  the  good,  anyhow  ? 

The  whole  course  of  thinking  was  swift  and  momentary 
He  only  answered  to  her  question,  "  No." 

To  prevent  further  questioning,  he  went  to  bed  ;  and 
worn  by  excitement  and  exhausted  from  previous  sleep 


202  ROXT. 


lessness,  he  fell  into  a  sleep,  from  wLich  he  awoke  at 
daylight  to  find  that  Roxy  had  not  been  in  bed.  When 
he  had  dressed  and  returned  to  the  sitting-room,  he  found 
her  sitting  in  her  chair,  where  he  had  left  her. 

Something  in  the  terrible  resoluteness  of  his  wife  made 
Bonamy  afraid.  If  she  could  spend  the  night  waiting  for 
him  to  awake  and  answer  her  query,  what  might  she  not 
do  if  she  understood  just  how  bad  he  had  been  ?  His  sin 
did  not  seem  to  him  quite  so  black  after  the  physical  re 
freshment  of  a  night  of  sleep ;  and  lie  easily  persuaded 
himself  that,  for  Roxy's  own  sake,  it  was  necessary  to  con 
ceal  his  guilt.  Moreover,  this  solemn  and  awful  deter 
mination  of  Roxy's  to  find  out,  had  awakened  his  old  com 
bative  stubbornness.  He  might  yield  and  tell  her  ;  but  it 
must  be  a  spontaneous  yielding.  She  must  not  carry  the 
point  by  siege. 

Nothing  was  said  between  them  until  after  breakfast 
when  Roxy  again  urged  her  plea  so  persistently  that  only 
Mark's  capacity  for  blind  resistance  in  a  matter  where  his 
combativeness  was  excited,  kept  him  back  from  telling 
her  the  whole  story.  This  ugly  state  of  resistance  made 
him  dwell  now  on  his  dislike  of  Roxy's  private  confer 
ence  with  Whittaker.  At  last  he  rose  to  go. 

"  Tell  me  one  thing,  Mark.  Have  I  done  anything  that 
troubles  you  ? "  She  said  this  as  she  stood  between  him 
and  the  door.  Mark  saw  a  way  of  present  escape  from  her 
inquiries  about  his  mental  trouble,  and  present  escape  was 
the  one  thing  that  his  indolent  moral  nature  ever  chose. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered. 

"Now  you  must  tell  me  what  it  is.  I  don't  want  to  do 
wrons;."  * 

£5 

"I  don't  want  you  to  do  things  that  make  people  talk 
about  you." 


COUNSEL,  ANjJ  THE  RESULT.  303 

Roxy  looked  at  him  in  pain  and  perplexity. 

"  Did  you  go  to  see  Whittaker  last  fall  while  I  was  gone  I " 

Roxy  was  very  loth  to  say  anything  about  this  interview 
to  Mark,  so  she  answered  evasively  : 

"  I  walked  up  with  Twonnet  and  I  saw  Mr.  Whittaker, 
Who  told  you  about  it  ? " 

"  That  doesn't  matter."  And  Mark  was  now  full  of  sus 
picion  of  something  inimical  to  himself  in  the  interview 
between  Roxy  and  Whittaker.  Why  should  she  evade  in 
this  way  ?  Why  ask  in  a  startled  voice,  "  Who  told  you  ? " 
lie  found  himself  in  the  position  of  accuser  instead  of 
accused,  though  with  a  lurking  sense  of  his  own  hypocrisy. 

"Did  you  go  to  Lefaure's  to  see  Whittaker  ?  Did  you 
hold  a  private  interview  with  him  \ " 

"  Mark,  I  am  willing,  since  you  ask  it,  to  tell  you  all 
about  that  matter,  though  I  would  rather  you  hadn't 
known  about  it.  But  you  mustn't  ask  in  that  tone.  You 
know,  Mark  Bonamy," — and  here  she  straightened  up 
while  her  eyes  glowed, — "  that  I  did  not  go  there  for  any 
evil  purpose.  You  must  grant  that  or  I  will  never  answer 
your  questions.5'"  It  was  the  first  time  in  months  that 
Roxy's  temper  had  broken  forth,  and  now  it  was  in  power 
and  resolute  purpose  that  it  came  out  and  not  in  weakness. 

Mark  was  seized  with  a  sudden  qualm  of  conscience. 
He  looked  in  her  pure  face  full  of  indignation  and  said  : 

"  Of  course,  Roxy,  I  know  you  are  all  right.  But  what 
the  mischief  did  you  go  for,  just  when  you  and  1  had 
fallen  out  ? " 

"  I  will  tell  you.  I  had  been  very  cross  to  yoli.  I  felt 
pure  I  had  done  wrong.  I  went  and  asked  Mr.  Whittaker'sf 
advice."  She  spoke  slowly  and  with  precision. 

"  Asked  advice  of  your  old  lover  about  your  family 
affairs  ? " 


304  ROXY. 


"  Have  you  noticed  any  improvement  in  my  temper 
since  ?  If  you  have  it's  all  owing  to  his  advice." 

"Couldn't  you  be  good-tempered  without  telling  him 
that  we  had  quarreled  ?  Now  I  don't  like  you  discussing 
me  with  anybody." 

"  I  didn't  say  one  worcUabout  you  except  to  speak  well 
of  you,  nor  did  he  say  anything  except  in  praise  of  you." 

"  What  did  you  tell  him  ?  " 

"  I  told  him  I  had  been  bad  and  cross  and  unsympa 
thetic  and  I  was  afraid  I  should  do  you  harm." 

u  What  good  could  come  of  confessing  to  him  2 " 

"  I  had  a  point  of  conscience,  if  you  must  know ;  I 
thought  that  your  pursuits  were  not  so — so — exactly  right, 
as  they  ought  to  be.  I  was  afraid  that  if  I  did  enter 
into  sympathy  with  your  worldly  ambition  I  should  com 
promise  my  religious  principles.  Mr.  Whittaker  removed 
my  scruples  and  taught  me  better." 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  ask  advice  of  your  husband." 
Mark's  conscience  smote  him  at  this  point.  "  I  have 
heard  your  call  at  Lefaure's  remarked  on." 

Roxy  pressed  her  lips  together  and  was  silent. 

"  At  least,  Mark,  you'll  admit  that  I've  changed  for  the 
better  since  I  talked  with  Mr.  Whittaker." 

"  I  wish  to  God  in  heaven  you'd  changed  a  little  sooner. 
It  would  have  been  better  for  both  of  us." 

These  words  were  spoken  as  though  they  were  wrung 
out  of  him.  Then  to  avoid  further  questions  he  left  the 
house  abruptly. 

Eoxy  sat  and  cried  and  puzzled  her  wits  more  and  more 
to  guess  what  this  last  remark  could  mean.  But  wjien 
Mark  came  back  he  resented  all  inquiries  and  his  wife 
waited  out  the  long  days  and  nights  in  inactivity  and  ter 
ror  of  she  knew  not  what. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 
JEM'S  KIFLE. 

MAKING  one'c  fortune  in  political  life  is  gambling  upon 
a  series  of  if  s.  If  Henry  Clay  or  some  other  Whig  should 
be  elected  president,  reasoned  Lathers,  and  if  there  should 
be  a  Whig  Congressman  from  the  district,  he  would  have 
great  influence  in  distributing  the  patronage  for  Luzerne 
County.  If  the  Congressman  should  be  from  one  of  the 
other  counties  in  the  district,  and  if  Lathers  could  stand 
his  chief  friend  in  Luzerne  County,  the  major  felt  sure 
that  his  political  importance  would  be  greatly  increased. 
But  if  Bonamy  should  go  to  Congress  Lathers  would  be 
second  or  third  instead  of  first  in  his  own  county. 

Lathers  knew  well  that  a  scandal  of  the  sort  to  which 
Bonamy  was  liable  might  not  of  itself  be  sufficient  to 
defeat  a  candidate  for  Congress.  The  moral  standard  of 
voters  away  back  in  the  Forties  was  lower  than  it  is  now 
in  the  Seventies,  and  there  is  even  yet  room  for  it  to  ad 
vance  by  the  time  we  come  to  the  Nineties.  But  if  the 
Kirtley  matter  could  be  kept  carefully  suppressed  until 
about  the  time  of  the  session  of  the  nominating  caucus,  he 
could  then  let  loose  Nancy's  suit  for  seduction  and  turn 
the  close  contest  against  Mark  by  criminal  proceedings 
and  the  scandal  of  an  arrest.  In  the  whole  matter  he 
would  play  the  role  of  Mark's  friend  and  defender,  and  in 
the  confusion  of  defeat  he  would  be  able  to  stampede 
enough  votes  to  Bonamy's  chief  competitor,  Paddock  of 


306  BOXT. 

Florence  County,  to  nominate  him.  He  had  already 
made  interest  with  Paddock.  But  the  whole  thing  must 
be  kept  secret  lest  the  Luzerne  County  men  should  have 
time  to  bring  forward  some  other  man  and  so  defeat  the 
plan.  For  the  " geographical  argument"  was  in  favor  of 
Luzerne  County.  It  was  the  "  turn  "  of  the  south-western 
portion  of  the  district  to  name  the  man.  And  the  geogra 
phical  argument  is  a  very  weighty  one  if  it  happens  to  be 
on  your  side.  If  it  is  in  favor  of  the  other  man  you  can 
insist  that  fitness  is  the  only  thing. 

If  Lathers  could  have  been  sure  of  Bonamy's  election, 
he  would  not  have  proposed  this  desertion.  But  in  such 
a  contest  as  the  one  now  raging  over  the  nomination  for 
Congress,  the  weaker  candidates  are  prone  to  make  com 
mon  cause  against  the  foremost  one,  so  that  by  the  time 
the  convention  meets  to  nominate,  the  bitter  combined 
opposition  renders  his  defeat  certain.  Mark,  as  the  lead 
ing  man,  had  to  run  this  risk.  Then,  too,  he  was  barely 
within  legal  age,  and  his  youth  was  likely  to  be  urged 
against  him.  And  even  if  he  should  secure  the  nomina 
tion,  the  Kirtley  scandal  and  the  consequent  domestic 
difficulties  could  not  be  kept  secret  until  the  election 
should  be  over,  and  it  might  defeat  Bonamy  by  turning 
his  own  county  against  him.  At  the  same  time,  Major 
Lathers  kept  his  eyes  open  for  anything  that  might  turn 
up,  and  the  like,  and  made  all  sorts  of  mental  reservations 
in  taking  his  resolution  to  go  for  Paddock.  For  himself, 
he  said,  he  was  like  Jacob's  coat  of  many  colors — all  things 
to  all  men  that  he  might  win  the  game,  and  the  like. 

In  order  to  keep  Mark's  political  strength  up  to  its  full 
measure  for  the  present,  Lathers  kept  Nancy  quiet  by 
holding  out  the  most  delusive  hopes.  He  represented  him 
self  as  her  friend  in  the  case.  He  told  her  that  he  had 


JIM1 S  RIFLE.  307 

extorted  from  Mark  solemn  promises  to  elope  with  her  aa 
soon  as  he  could  get  his  affair«  arranged.  Bonamj  was 
even  now  selling  off  property  secretly,  so  that  he  could 
start  for  Texas  with  Nancy  in  June.  It  is  the  evil  of  evil 
affairs  that  agents  bad  enough  for  bad  business  are  too  bad 
to  be  trustworthy. 

Lathers  had  impressed  on  Nancy  the  necessity  for  secrecy. 
But  there  is  a  limit  to  the  capacity  for  secrecy.  Nancy 
could  not  long  forego  her  love  of  tormenting  Jim  Mc- 
Gowan.  Whenever  the  poor  follow  lifted  his  head  in  a 
faint  hope  of  winning  her  regard,  she  pounced  upon  him 
as  a  cat  does  upon  a  shaken  mouse  that  dares  to  move  but 
feebly  again.  Seeing  that  Nancy  had  married  nobody 
else,  Jim  reasoned  that,  since  in  the  nature  of  things  she 
must  needs  marry  somebody,  he  would  be  the  one.  "  She'll 
git  done  foolin'  some  day,"  he  said.  Having  expressed 
himself  to  this  effect  to  Nancy,  as  she  sat  frowning  at  him 
one  day, — it  was  now  the  last  of  April, — she  came  out 
with : 

"  Thunder  an'  blazes,  Jim  !  I'm  a-goin'  to  do  a  heap 
sight  better'n  that." 

"  Where  ?     How  ? "  exclaimed  Jim,  startled. 

"You'll  know  afore  long.  When  you  come  to  Texa^ 
some  day,  you'll  find  me  in  a  fine  house,  somebody.  I 
wont  look  at  you  then,  dogged  ef  I  will." 

"  Wjj  Nance,  how  you  talk  !  Sence  Bonamy  got  mar 
ried  they  haint  no  rich  feller  about  that  your'e  like  to  git. 
You  wouldn't  run  off  weth  another  women's  husband,  I 
'low,"  and  Jim  laughed  a  rude  laugh  at  the  improbability 
of  the  thing  The  laugh  stung  Nancy. 

"  Wouldn't  I?  Confound  you,  Jim,  d'you  think  I'm  a 
fool  to  be  fooled  with  ?  I'll  show  girls  how  they  kin  take 
a  beau  from  me,  and  I'll  lam  folks  to  fool  weth  me.  You'll 


308  ROXY. 

know  more'u  yjii  do  now  when  you're  a  leetle  older, 
be." 

This  speech  and  the  dare-devil  tone  set  McGowan  wild, 
as  it  was  meant  to.  Puzzling  himself  to  guess  out  what 
was  behind  the  threat,  there  came  into  his  mind  a  jealous 
suspicion  of  the  true  state  of  the  case.  He  went  to 
Luzerne  the  next  day,  and,  by  dint  of  pretending  to  know 
the  facts,  he  wormed  them  out  of  Haz  Kirtley.  That 
very  night,  with  the  borderer's  disregard  for  law  and  life, 
he  loaded  his  rifle  with  a  heavy  charge  of  powder,  cut  his 
patching  with  extreme  care,  selected  a  bullet  of  good  form 
and  rammed  it  down  solidly,  smote  the  stock  of  the  gun 
with  his  hand  to  bring  the  powder  well  down  into  the  tube, 
and  selected  a  good  cap.  He  'lowed  that  air  would  fetch 
things,  he  said. 

With  this  well-loaded  rifle  he  waited   that  nio-ht   for 

o 

Mark's  late  return  to  his  home.  He  crept  along  in  the 
shadows  of  the  houses  in  Lnzerne,  intending  to  shoot 

'  O 

Boriamy  in  the  street.  His  horse  was  saddled  and  tied  to 
the  hitching-rail  at  the  public  square.  There  was  not  a 
light  anywhere  to  be  seen,  except  one  from  an  upper  win 
dow  011  the  opposite  side  of  the  square.  A  conference 
with  Lathers  detained  Mark  very  late.  Even  McGowan 
grew  nervous  with  his  long,  murderous  watch  for  his 
victim.  At  last  he  heard  steps  coining  in  the  darkness 
under  the  locusts  on  the  other  side  of  the  street.  He 
leaned  back  close  to  the  fence,  slowly  cocked  his  gun,  and 
waited  for  Mark  to  come  out  of  the  shadow  of  the  young 

t/  t^ 

foliage  of  the  trees  into  the  light,  so  that  his  unerring  aim 
might  bring  him  down.  But  when  the  figure  emerged  into 
the  starlight,  it  proved  to  be  that  of  a  white-haired,  well- 
dressed  old  man,  walking  uneasily  and  peering  to  the  right 
and  left.  When  the  old  man  caught  sight  of  McGowau 


JIM'S  RIFLE.  309 

and  his  gun  on  the  other  side,  he  crossed  the  street  to  hin^ 
and  said  sternly : 

"  What's  this  ?  What  are  you  standing  here  for  at  this 
time  o'  night  with  that  rifle  for  ? " 

"  You'd  'a'  found  out,  may  be,  ef  I  hadn't  Vseed  jest 
in  time  that  you  wuzn't  the  man."  Here  McGowan 
slowly  lowered  the  hammer  of  his  rifle.  "  I'm  after  a  man 
that's  ruined  my  girl,  and  that's  goin'  off  to  Texas  weth 
her.  Leastwise,  he  means  to ;  but  I  mean  to  send  him 
somewheres  else.  Stand  out  of  the  way  !  I'm  looking  fer 
him  every  minute.  And  when  I  see  him  they'll  be  a  case 
fer  the  coroner." 

"  Young  man," — the  old  man's  voice  was  quivering, — • 
"  thirty  years  ago  I  killed  a  man  right  out  there  close  to 
where  the  pump  stands.  He  struck  me  with  a  whip,  and 
I  was  young  and  proud.  I  shot  him.  O  God  !  if  I'd  only 
thought  what  I  was  doing !  " 

"  Is  your  name  White? "  asked  McGowan  with  a  shudder. 

"  Yes,  everybody  knows  about  me,  I  suppose.  I  am 
like  Cain.  That's  my  candle  there  in  the  window.  I 
can't  sleep  in  the  dark.  Sometimes  I  can't  sleep  at  all. 
I  can  see  Bob  Anderson  as  I  saw  the  poor  fellow  lying 
there  thirty  years  ago.  If  you  want  to  be  in  hell  all  the 
rest  of  your  life,  just  shoot  a  man  to-night." 

This  staggered  Jim  a  little,  but  a  moment  later,  swear 
ing  under  his  breath,  he  raised  his  gun  to  shoot.     Mark, 
attracted  by  the  sound  of  voices,  was  crossing  the  street  to 
the  two  men.     The  old  man  pushed  up  the  gun  and  kept 
on  warning  Jim. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  asked  Mark. 

"  It's  me.  Come  to  settle  up  with  you  about  that  mat 
ter  of  Nancy  Kirtley.  I'm  goin'  to  blow  your  infernal 
brains  out." 


310  HOXT. 

The  old  man  kept  putting  himself  in  the  \\ay  of 
Gowan  and  urging  Mark  to  run  away.  But  Bonamy  had 
always  been  a  man  of  almost  reckless  physical  courage, 
to  flee  was  not  possible  to  him,  and  now,  tired  and  worn 
with  the  struggle  of  good  and  bad  in  himself,  he  had  a 
desperate  feeling  that  it  would  be  a  service  to  him  if 
somebody  would  relieve  him  of  his  life. 

"  Take  care,  Mr.  White,"  he  said.  '•  Get  out  of  the  way 
and  let  him  shoot.  I  wish  to  God  he  would.  Shoot,  Jim, 
shoot.  I  deserve  it.  I  would  like  to  die  right  here,  and 
get  done  with  this  whole  infernal  business  and  this  in 
fernal  old  world." 

"  You  wont  shoot  an  unresisting  man,"  urged  the  old 
man.  "  f  ou'll  be  a  coward  and  a  murderer  if  you  do. 
You'll  be  worse  than  I  am  and  you'll  have  more  hell  than 
I've  got." 

"  I — I--"  said  Jim,  letting  his  gun  down  and  turning 
away,  u  I  can't  quite  shoot  a  feller  down  in  cold  blood 
that  acts  that  away.  He's  in  my  power."  Then  he 
stopped.  "  But  just  looky  here,  Mark  Bonamy,  you  infer 
nal  scoundrel,  you'd  ort  to  die  like  a  dog,  an'  you  jest  dare 
to  run  off  with  Nancy  and  I  will  kill  you  both,  so  help 
me  God."  And  Jim  proceeded  to  lire  off  all  the  curses 
which  the  Rocky  Fork  dialect  could  afford. 

"  I  never  had  any  notion  of  running  off  with  her." 

"  You  lie.  She  says  you  told  Lathers  so.  I've  got  u 
mind  to  shoot  you  fer  lyin'  to  me." 

"I  didn't  lie.  Shoot,  if  you  want  to.  It  would  be  a 
dreadful  waste  of  powder  though.  I'm  net  worth  the 
charge  in  your  gun." 

Irresolutely  McGowan  moved  off,  stopping  now  and 
then  to  look  back  while  he  felt  of  his  gun  ominously.  At 
last  he  mounted  his  horse  and  slowly  rode  away. 


JIM'S  RIFLE.  311 

"Don't  say  anything  about  this  matter,  Mr.  White," 
said  Mark  as  he  saw  the  last  of  his  enemy.  "  I'm  'most 
sorry  he  didn't  shoot." 

The  old  man  moved  off  without  reply,  only  saying  to 
himself,  "  I  sha'n't  sleep  a  wink  to-night." 

It  is  commonly  said  that  only  a  virtuous  man  is  at  peace 
with  himself.  In  truth  there  are  two  ways  to  a  quiet  con 
science,  that  of  entire  goodness  and  that  of  utter  badness. 
As  the  first  is  never  quite  achieved,  it  is  only  the  wholly 
bad  man  who  has  no  trouble  with  the  moralities.  If  peace 
of  conscience  were  the  main  end  of  life,  the  dead  con 
science  capable  of  telling  no  tales  were  best.  The  trouble 
with  Bonamy,  who  now  went  home  wretched  enough,  was 
that  he  was  not  bad  enough.  Many  a  man  of  fair  out 
ward  seeming  would  have  taken  Mark's  guilty  conscious 
ness  easily.  Bonamy's  moral  sense  was  not  dominant,  nor 
was  it  steady  enough  to  be  an  available  guide.  Like  all 
liis  impulses,  it  was  subject  to  the  law  of  his  temperament 
and  acted  intensely  but  intermittently.  But  all  the  more 
for  its  very  lack  of  continuity  was  it  a  tormentor  when 
aroused  by  an  outward  circumstance,  like  Roxy's  suffer 
ing  face  or  an  encounter  such  as  this  with  McGowan. 

Mark  could  face  the  muzzle  of  a  rifle,  but  not  exposure. 
And  now  the  dread  of  disgrace  and  of  Roxy's  execration 
haunted  him  and  made  his  wrong- doing  seem  blacker  than 
ever.  There  came  to  him  the  desperate  temptation  to 
seek  relief  by  the  road  to  utter  badness.  Why  not  run 
off  either  with  or  without  Nancy,  and  let  the  world  of 
Luzer  ne  drop  away  from  his  life?  The  illusive  notion 
•-hat  he  could  begin  life  over  again  and  do  better  seized 
lim.  But  here  again  the  contradictions  of  his  nature  held 
him  back.  lie  was  neither  bad  enough  nor  good  enough 
to  take  either  way  out, 

*>"• 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

A   BKEAK. 

EVENTS  now  took  their  inevitable  course.  Precautions 
of  Mark  and  precautions  of  Lathers  were  alike  in  vain. 

McGowan  did  not  say  much  to  Nancy  about  the  rifle 
when  he  saw  her  early  the  next  morning.  But  he  told 
her  that  Bonamy  had  denied  all  intention  of  going  to 
Texas  with  her.  What  could  Nancy  do  but  fly  in  a  pas 
sion  and  suggest  that  Jim  should  mind  his  own  business 
and  be  gone?  He  retorted  with  a  sneer  that  nobody  of 
any  sense  would  believe  an  old  fox  like  Lathers,  who 
wanted  to  get  Mark  elected.  Whereupon  Nancy  told  him 
he  was  a  fool  and  that  he  must  clear  out.  But  the  sus 
picion  once  fastened  in  her  mind  that  Major  Lathers 
"  might  be  a-foolin'  weth  her  "  set  Nancy  wild  with  anger. 
Gossips  of  Rocky  Fork  who  had  long  hated  Nancy  for 
her  beauty  and  her  arrogance  were  even  now  whispering 
about  her.  She  felt  already  the  coming  of  the  contempt 
she  should  have  to  suffer  if  her  disgrace  should  become 
known.  She  would  be  shut  out  of  good  society. 

So  she  started  to  town  at  once.  She  would  see  Lathers 
and  Bonamy  together  and  have  things  made  right.  Noth 
ing  was  so  dreadful  a  blow  to  her  self-love  as  this  suspicion 
that  she  had  been  duped. 

When  McGowan  heard  that  she  had  started  to  Luzerne, 
his  jealous  and  vindictive  suspicions  were  roused  again. 
He  took  his  rifle  once  more  Dff  the  wall-hooks  and  fol 


A  BRSAK.  313 

lowed,  resolved  to  find  out  what  this  last  move  might 
mean,  and  to  be  prepared  to  square  the  account  at  any 
moment. 

In  the  interview  of  the  night  before,  Lathers  had  ex 
torted  from  the  reluctant  Mark  a  certificate  of  his  pleni 
potentiary  authority  in  the  Kirtley  matter.  This  was  to 
be  shown  to  any  of  the  family  who  could  read  it,  and  used 
as  a  means  of  keeping  Nancy  quiet.  On  the  morning 
after  the  encounter  with  McGowan,  Mark  went  early  to 
see  the  major,  telling  him  in  despair  that  the  matter  was 
"  as  good  as  out."  But  the  sheriff  insisted  that  affairs 
were  by  no  means  desperate,  and  that,  in  sheer  self-defense, 
Mark  must  proceed  with  his  campaign  as  though  nothing 
had  happened.  Bonamy  had  an  appointment  to  go  to 
Versailles  for  consultation  over  the  political  situation,  and 
he  must  go.  Lathers  would  'tend  to  things  and  the 
like. 

Roxy's  look  of  mute -appeal  to  Mark,  as  he  departed 
that  morning,  disturbed  him  more  than  ever.  She  hardly 
ever  said  anything  to  him  now.  She  had  grown  pale  and 
wan  waiting  for  him  to  speak  of  something — she  knew  not 
what.  Of  late  she  almost  feared  to  hear  this  secret  that 
weighed  so  upon  him.  Now  he  only  glanced  furtively  at 
her  rigid  face,  and  then,  turning  abruptly  away  without 
looking  at  her  again,  he  said : 

"  I  doir  t  know  when  I'll  be  back." 

It  was  a  rude  parting.  No  other  word  of  farewell.  He 
did  not  even  regard  her  as  he  brushed  past  her  in  the 
porch,  giving  some  direction  to  the  old  negro,  Bob,  about 
the  horse  How  could  Koxy  know  that  it  was  the  very 
volcano  of  feeling  within  that  made  it  impossible  for 
Mark  to  say  more,  or  to  look  in  her  face  the  second  time  ? 
How  could  she  understand  that  it  was  not  deliberate  neg  t 
14 


314  ROXT. 


lect?  She  did  not  weep.  Her  heart  was  stone  dead 
within  her. 

When  Mark  had  gene,  Boho  stood  gazing  wistfully  at 
her  face.  He  went  up  to  her,  ran  his  fingers  up  and  down 
her  cheeks  coaxingly,  and  said,  "  Dear  Roxy, — dear  Roxy 
feels  bad." 

In  an  instant  Roxy  folded  the  child-like  youth  in  her 
arms. 

"  You  love  me,  poor  boy,  don't  you  ? " 

Then  she  smiled  faintly  on  him  as  she  relaxed  her  hold, 
and  Bobo  straightway  fed  the  chickens  all  the  wheat  they 
could  eat.  But  Roxy  sat  down,  with  her  hands  in  her  lap, 
and  looked  steadfastly  out  of  the  window  at  the  great, 
black  flocks  of  wild  pigeons,  flying  by  millions  upon  mil 
lions  across  the  river,  in  swarms  stretching  for  miles  up 
and  down  the  valley.  Every  year  she  had  watched  the 
mysterious  flights  to  and  fro  of  these  birds,  that  darken 
the  sky  with  their  countless  wings.  Now  she  looked 
steadfastly  at  them,  appearing  as  by  magic  out  of  the  south 
ern  horizon  over  the  Kentucky  hills.  The  sight  stirred 
again  her  memories  of  the  dreams  and  plans  of  the  girl 
Roxy,  and  she  saw  her  own  child-life  pass  before  her, 
while  she  looked  on  as  some  one  else.  Then  she  remem 
bered  that  it  was  May-day.  The  children  would  be  going 
to  Tardy's  Thicket  this  morning.  What  armf  uls  of  bright 
flowers  she  had  gathered  when  she  was  a  girl !  She  saw 
herself  again,  on  the  return,  stopping  on  top  of  a  grassy 
hill  that  overlooked  the  town.  The  vision  of  the  merry 
song- plays,  "  Ring  around  the  rosy,"  and  u  Oats,  peas, 
beans,  and  barley  grows,"  came  up  before  her  again.  She 
Baw  herself  chosen  as  "  true  Jove,"  now  by  this  lad  and  then 
by  that  one,  while  she  in  turn  made  her  choice,  as  they 
danced  the  old  game  again  on  the  grass-green  hill- top. 


A  BREAK.  315 

As  it  all  floated  before  her,  she  did  not  feel  sorrow,  regret, 
anything.  How  can  one  feel  when  one's  heart  is  stone 
dead? 

Mark  Bonamy  rode  out  through  the  town  and  off  over 
Lindley's  Hill.  He  marked  the  children  gathering  in 
groups  to  start  for  Tardy 's  Thicket.  A  dim  remembrance 
of  the  freshness  of  his  own  childhood  swept  over  him,  liko 
a  breeze  that  starts  moist  and  fresh  across  an  arid  desert, 
but  that  immediately  becomes  dry  and  hot  and  parching. 
For  what  is  May-day  to  him  out  of  whose  life  all  the  fresh 
ness  and  innocence  of  childhood  is  clean  gone  ?  The  blue 
birds  sang  their  softest  love-songs  on  the  top  of  the  slanting 
stakes  in  the  rail-fences  by  the  road-side,  boasting  in  their 
happy  singing  of  the  blue  eggs  in  the  round  hole  where 
they  had  built  their  nests.  The  cat-birds  sang  so  as  almost 
to  rival  their  first  cousins,  the  mocking-birds ;  the  red- 
bird's  rich  voice  was  heard  on  every  hand.  The  wild 
pigeons  new  over  Mark's  head  in  myriads,  and  when  he 
was  on  a  hill-top  they  almost  touched  him  with  theii 
whirring  wings.  But  all  the  joy  of  this  day  mocked  a'< 
Bonamy.  lie  was  deaf  and  blind.  The  face  of  his  wife, 
pale,  rigid,  but  beseeching,  followed  him.  The  dread  of 
disgrace  mingled  with  his  remorse.  For  miles  and  miles 
he  rode,  over  hills  and  through  hollows  clad  in  the  new 
leaves  of  oak  and  hickory  and  maple,  fringed  with  flowers 
of  the  dogwood  and  redbud  and  the  thorny  red  haw ;  for 
miles  he  rode  through  flat  lands  covered  with  beech,  past 
"  branches,"  whose  noisy  waters  refreshed  the  roots  of 
sycamores ;  and  for  other  miles  he  went  through  the 
Scotch  settlement,  along  lanes  bordered  by  blossoming 
elder-bushes  with  fence-corners  in  green  and  gold,  of  grass 
and  dandelion,  and  in  sight  of  sweet  fields  of  dark-green 
wheat.  But  he  saw  nothing  but  the  face  of  the  heavt 


816  ROXY. 

broken  Roxy.  He  hated  the  green  earth  and  the  blue  sky 
in  his  heart ;  he  hated  most  of  all  himself. 

At  last,  when  full  twenty  miles  from  home,  he  stopped 
by  the  roadside  ;  exhausted  by  the  strain  of  emotion  he 
dismounted,  anl  sat  upon  a  log,  holding  the  bridle  in  hia 
hand  while  the  horse  browsed  on  the  grass  and  bushes. 
Whj  go  on  ?  What  did  he  care  for  a  consultation  with 
small  politicians  at  Versailles?  What  did  it  matter 
whether  he  should  go  to  Congress  or  not  ?  The  misery  in 
him  had  killed  the  ambition.  IIow  can  hope  and  perdi 
tion  dwell  together? 

The  combativeness  of  his  temperament  had  always  in 
clined  him  to  face  physical  peril,  never  to  flee  from  it. 
A  sudden  impulse,  like  that  of  fierce  physical  courage, 
seized  him  now  to  ride  back  to  Luzerne,  to  confess  to 
Koxy,  to  resign  all  thought  of  election  to  Congress,  tc 
make  the  best  settlement  he  could  with  Nancy,  and  then 
to  take  the  consequences.  The  daring  and  desperate 
thought  was  like  the  suicidal  reaction  of  a  man  who  is 
driven  frantic  by  danger, — he  will  kill  himself  to  escape 
the  dread  of  death. 

He  dropped  the  horse's  bridle  and  walked  to  and  fro 
Across  the  road  a  few  times.  But  deliberation  had  become 
impossible.  He  turned  and  seized  the  bridle  again,  sprang 
into  the  saddle  and  rode  eagerly  back  over  the  road  he  had 
wine. 

At  last  the  long  lane  had  turned. 

And  ever  as  he  spurred  his  horse  up  over  hills  and  down 
into  ro.;ky  glens  he  was  inwardly  smitten  for  his  delay  in 
turning. 

Did  he  pray  now  that  he  was  riding  back  toward  some 
thing  better  ?  No.  But  he  swore.  He  cursed  himself, 
he  cursed  the  crime  that  had  blackened  his  life,  he  cursed 


A  BREAK.  317 

Nancy,  he  cm-feed  Lathers,  he  cursed  the  world.  He  could 
have  blasphemed  the  Almighty  God  himself.  And  yet 
for  all  his  maledictions  he  was  a  better  man  even  as  he 
rode.  For  have  ye  not  read  how  the  devil,  when  he  leav- 
eth  a  man,  casteth  him  down  and  rendeth  him  sore  ?  And 
curses  are  often  but  the  cry  of  the  soul  maddened  by  the 
scourge  of  conscience. 

When  it  was  yet  mid-afternoon  there  were  five  more 
hilly  miles  for  Bonamy  to  ride.  Would  he  reach  home  in 
time  to  be  -the  first  to  tell  Roxy  the  evil  story?  The 
thought  that  she  might  hear  it  from  some  one  else, 
and  that  so  his  confession  might  be  forestalled,  almost 
crazed  him,  and  he  swore  and  drove  his  tired  horse  on,  up 
hill  and  down,  until  at  last  he  came  into  the  town  with 
the  horse  foaming  with  sweat.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the 
people  looked  at  him  strangely.  Then  he  remembered 
that  his  imagination  was  excited.  But  what  were  the 
people  standing  in  the  doors  of  stores  and  coming  to  the 
windows  for  ?  Why  did  they  seem  to  recognize  him  in  a 
surprised  way  ?  Perhaps,  after  all,  they  only  wondered 
because  his  horse  was  dripping  with  sweat. 

As  he  passed  Lathers'  office,  that  worthy  chevalier, 
standing  chewing  meditatively  in  the  door,  started  with 
surprise  at  sight  of  Bonamy  and  rushed  out  to  him  calling, 
"Mark,  Mark!" 

But  Mark  only  swore  and  waved  him  off  impatiently, 
riding  straight  onward  toward  the  blossoming  apple-trees 
and  waving  Lombardies  of  his  own  place. 

And  Lathers,  whose  discomfiture  had  been  witnessed 
by  the  crowd  on  the  street  corner,  went  back  to  his  ofnco 
and  shut  the  door  muttering  that  the  devil  and  the  like 
was  let  loose  all  around  to-day. 

"  Ef  he  wants  to  git  shot  that's  his  road,"  he  added. 


CHAPTEE  XLV. 

COMING   DARKNESS. 

JIM  McGowAN  had  followed  Nancy  closely  all  the  wa,j 
to  town.  lie  kept  so  far  behind  that  she  did  not  see  him, 
but  at  every  hill-top  he  could  see  her.  He  watched  her 
turn  into  the  cabin  of  her  brother  Haz.  Then  he  went  to 
Dixon's  corner  and  took  a  drink.  After  firing  himself 
with  yet  other  drinks  he  sallied  out  and  on  his  way  to  a 
convenient  post  of  observation  he  had  the  luck  to  meet 
Mother  Tartrum  looking  about  for  a  bit  of  news  as  eagerly 
as  the  early  bird  seeks  a  worm. 

"  Mr.  McGowan,  Mr.  McGowan,"  shrieked  the  old  lady, 
"  what's  the  news  ?  How  do  things  get  on  out  at  Rocky 
Fork  ?  Are  you  married  yet  I 

"  No,"  said  Jim. 

"  That's  carious.  You  brought  me  some  wood  two 
years  ago  and  we  talked  about  Mark  Bonamy.  He  didn't 
go  to  Texas  after  all.  He's  tryin'  to  get  to  Congress.  But 
they  do  say  he  aint  very  happy  with  his  wife.  I  don't  know 
what's  the  matter.  I  expect  she's  high  tempered.  These 
awful  good  people  are  generally  highty-tighty  at  home." 

"  I'd  be  high  tempered,  too,  ef  I  was  Bonamy's  wife. 
I'd  choke  him,  blame  him." 

"  Laws,  now !  You  don't  say.  Do  you  think  he's  bad 
to  her  ? " 

"  I  wish  I  could  get  a  good  chance  at  him  some  time 
weth  my  rifle." 


COMING  DARKNESS.  319 

"  Oh,  my ! "  And  with  this  Mother  Tartrum  fell  to 
work  with  the  eagerness  of  a  gold  miner  who  has  "  struck 
it  rich,"  or  a  reporter  who  scents  a  "  beat."  Here  was  a 
lead  worth  the  working,  for  Jim's  whisky  had  made  him 
communicative  and  he  told  Mother  Tartrum  all  he  knew. 
When  she  was  sure  she  had  all  his  information  she  dropped 
off  like  a  satisfied  leech.  She  was  now  eager  to  tell  what 
she  had  heard,  and  above  all  to  tell  it  where  it  would  make 
the  most  sensation,  so  that  she  might  also  have  the  sensa 
tion  to  talk  about.  So  she  went  straight  to  Roxy's  aunt, 
Mrs.  Hanks,  only  scattering  morsels  of  intelligence  at  two 
places  on  her  road,  as  I  have  seen  travelers  drop  sparks  of 
fire  into  dry  prairie-grass,  and  pass  on,  sure  that  a  wide 
spread  conflagration  would  go  on  long  after  they  were 
out  of  sight  of  it. 

While  Mother  Tartrum  was  marching  to  the  pleasar* 
task  of  humbling  the  pride  of  Mrs.  Hanks,  Nancy  Kirtley, 
unconscious  that  she  was  watched  by  Jim  McGowan,  was 
moving  directly  on  Major  Lathers. 

"  You've  been  a-foolin'  weth  me ! "  she  began.  Lathers 
was  very  bland  and  persuasive  in  his  replies  ;  but  he  could 
not  remove  from  Nancy's  mind  the  awful  suspicion  that 
she  had  been  duped.  She'd  heerd  that  Mark  denied 
"  teetotal "  that  he  had  made  any  promise  of  departure 
with  her  for  Texas, — then  the  promised  land  of  all  ab 
sconding  people.  She  shook  her  fist  in  Lathers's  face. 
"  You  jest  fool  weth  me  oust,  and  you'll  be  sorry  for  it," 
she  cried.  As  a  last  resort,  Lathers  read  to  her  the  paper 
that  Mark  had  written  the  night  before. 

"  Lemme  see  that  air,"  said  the  girl. 

"  You  can't  read  it,"  and  Lathers  drew  back. 

"  I  kin  tell  ef  it's  his'n.  Ef  you  don't  gin  it  to  me  now, 
I'll  blow  the  whole  thing  all  over  town  in  an  hour." 


320  ROXY. 

Lathers  held  it  so  she  could  see  it. 

"  You're  afraid  to  trust  me  take  holt  of  it,  air  you ! 
Never  mind  ;  I  come  to  town  to  git  even." 

"  Oh,  take  it  and  look  at  it,"  he  said. 

With  a  jerk  Nancy  took  it  and  shoved  it  into  her 
pocket.  In  vain  Lathers  coaxed  and  threatened.  She 
backed  toward  the  door. 

"  I'll  1'arn  folks  to  fool  weth  Nance  Kirtley,  dogged  ef 
I  don't,"  and  with  a  sudden  spring  she  swung  the  door 
wide  and  passed  into  the  open  air.  "  Now,  I'm  agoin'  to 
have  tliis  read,  an'  ef  I  find  it  aint  Mark  Bonamy's  writin', 
or  thet  you're  foolin'  weth  me  anyways,  then  I'll  take  the 
other  way  of  gittin'  even.  Where's  Bonamy  ?  " 

"  He's  gone  out  of  town  this  morning ;  and  if  you  don't 
give  back  that  paper  I'll  have  you  took  up  and  the  like." 

Lathers  spoke  from  the  door  of  his  office,  and  Nancy, 
fearing  that  the  sheriff  would  carry  out  his  threat,  started 
off  hurriedly,  but  with  hesitation  and  indecision.  First 
she  walked  one  way,  then  another,  as  though  conflicting 
inclinations  perpetually  broke  her  resolutions.  Once  she 
had  admitted  suspicion,  suspicion  easily  pervaded  a  mind 
so  turbid  as  hers.  Bonamy  was  probably  getting  ready 
to  go  off  without  her.  That  was  why  he  did  not  see  her 
himself.  She  did  not  believe  he  was  out  of  the  town.  It 
was  all  a  ruse,  and  he  would  take  his  wife  and  run  away 
from  Nancy's  persecutions.  If  that  were  so,  she  would 
better  go  to  Roxy  herself,  and  "  have  it  out  with  her." 
She  would  "  show  them  whether  they'd  play  gum  games 
oc  her.""  She  would  find  out  from  Roxy  what  was  the; 
matter,  and  then  she  would  know  how  to  "  git  even  "  with 
them  all  For  her  expanding  and  suspicious  resentment 
now  included  Lathers  also  as  one  of  the  people  in  a  con 
spiracy  to  thwart  her. 


LATHERS  HELD  IT  SO  SHE  COULD  SEE  IT. 


VUMING  DARKNESS.  321 

She  didn't  know,  however,  whether  to  follow  this  im 
pulse  to  go  to  Roxy  or  not.  But  she  was  seized  with  a  sud* 
3 en  return  of  the  terror  with  which  the  elder  Bonamy  had 
inspired  her.  She  had  a  vague  notion  that  ths  sheriff  was 
after  her.  He  might  put  her  in  jail,  and  then  Mark 
ccuj-3  go  off  before  she  could  get  out.  She  must  strike 
her  worst  blow  at  once. 

Impelled  thus  by  fear  and  revenge,  the  prey  to  conflict 
ing  passions  that  found  no  check  either  from  her  under 
standing  or  her  will,  she  hurried  toward  the  Bonarny 
house,  clutching  the  writing  she  had  captured  from  the 
sheriff,  who,  for  his  part,  was  at  his  wits'  end. 

Nancy  came  to  the  large  gate  of  the  Bonamy  place,  and 
fell  back  a  moment  in  awe.  Like  other  people  of  vulgar 
minds,  she  had  great  reverence  for  the  externals  of  life, 
and  the  long  rows  of  trim  poplars  back  of  the  gate  over 
awed  her  rustic  mind.  To  assail  the  mistress  of  such  a 
place  was  appalling. 

While  she  hesitated,  Twonnet  passed  her  and  went  in 
at  the  gate. 

"I  don't  want  to  go  in  while  that  girl's  thar,"  she  said. 
So  she  went  down  the  road  a  little  way,  and  climbed  over 
the  fence  into  a  vineyard.  Crouching  under  the  shelter 
of  the  vines,  now  pretty  well  in  leaf,  she  could  watch  the 
house  and  be  out  of  the  way  of  Lathers  or  any  of  his  men, 
if  they  should  come  to  arrest  her. 

This  arrangement,  however,  was  a  very  exasperating  one 
to  McGowan,  who  had  watched  Nancy  all  the  way  from  the 
sheriff's  office.  He  was  sure  of  some  conference  between 
her  aid  Bonamy,  under  cover  of  the  vineyard.  So  he 
began  to  look  up  and  down  the  rows  of  vines,  with  his 
hand  on  the  lock  of  his  gun,  searching  for  Mark  with  the 
same  keen  hunter's  gaze  that  was  trained  in  the  search  foi 
14* 


322  ROXY. 

wild  beasts,  and  looking  for  him  with  no  more  of  scruple 
about  killing  him  than  he  would  have  had  about  shooting 
a  wolf. 

Among  those  whom  Mother  Tartrum  had  spoken  briefly 
of  the  scandal  was  Mr.  Highbury.  She  had  only  told  him 
vaguely  that  there  was  something  awful  about  to  come  out 
about  Mr.  Bellamy's  private  character.  She  hadn't  time 
to  say  more ;  but  there  would  be  trouble.  She  had  seen 
a  man  from  Rocky  Fork  waiting  with  a  gun.  And, 
having  thus  piqued  Highbury's  curiosity,  she  departed 
with  that  air  of  reserved  information  so  satisfying  to  the 
gossip.  It  chanced  that  Mr.  Highbury  met  Mr.  Whittaker 
immediately  after,  and  forthwith  launched  into  a  strain 
of  moralizing  over  Mark's  fall  and  the  danger  of  these 
exciting  revivals.  The  approved  and  pious  way  of  gossip 
ing  is  to  sweeten  scandal  with  the  treacle  of  homilizing 
inferences. 

Whittaker,  from  his  previous  knowledge  of  Nancy, 
guessed  more  of  the  fact  than  Highbury  could  tell  him. 
He  was  grievously  uneasy  during  Mr.  Highbury's  some 
what  protracted  moralities,  and  at  last  broke  away  rather 
abruptly.  He  was  thinking  of  the  thunderbolt  hang 
ing  over  the  head  of  Roxy.  Ought  he  not  to  do  some 
thing  to  protect  her  ?  He  could  not  go  himself.  Whom 
could  he  send  ?  He  thought  of  fat,  inane,  little  Mrs. 
Highbury,  and  almost  smiled  at  the  idea  of  her  consol 
ing  anybody.  He  could  not  send  Mrs.  Adams,  the  Miss 
Moore  of  other  times.  She  was — well — not  a  fool ;  but 
she  was  what  she  was.  Mrs.  Hanks  was  Roxy's  aunt; 
but  he  thought,  from  the  little  he  knew  of  her,  that  she 
would  not  do. 

But  there  was  Twonnet, — giddy,  nonsense-loving,  railing 
Twonnet !  With  a  glow  he  thought  of  her.  What  a 


VOMING  DARKNESS.  323 

fc  untain  of  comfort  that  child  had  in  her !  He  walked 
more  briskly.  He  did  not  know  how  long  this  rumor  had 
been  afloat,  and  he  might  be  too  late  to  shield  Roxy  by 
the  presence  of  her  friend.  He  found  Twonnet  coming 
from  the  garden,  carrying  a  wooden  bowl  full  of  freshly 
plucked  lettuce,  and  singing  gayly  : 

"  Then  buy  a  little  toy, 
A  little  toy— a  little  toy, 
From  poor  Rose  of  Lucerne ! 
I've  crossed  the  ocean  blue, 

From  Swiss-land  a  stranger, 
For  a  brother  dear  to  me. 

From  Swiss-land  a  ranger, 
Then  buy  a  little  toy,"  etc. 

The  air  was  lighter  than  vanity ;  the  words  were  nothing; 
but  the  gay  heart  of  the  girl  poured  out  in  the  childish  song 
its  own  joyousness,  with  all  the  delicious  abandon  of  a 
catbird's  early  morning  melody.  Seeing  Whittaker,  she 
colored  slightly ;  but,  quickly  assuming  an  entreating  air, 
she  held  out  her  bowl  of  lettuce  as  though  offering  wares 
for  sale,  turned  her  head  of  pretty  brown  curls  on  one 
side,  and  plaintively,  even  beseechingly,  repeated  the 
refrain : 

"Ohl  buy  a  little  toy, 

From  poor  Rose  of  Lucerne  1 " 

There  was  so  much  dramatic  expression  in  the  action, 
so  mush  of  tenderness  in  the  mercurial  eyes  and  ruddy 
brown  cheeks  and  soft  pleading  voice,  so  much  of  some 
thing  in  himself  that  drew  him  to  "  the  child,"  as  he  called 
her,  that  he  could  hardly  keep  back  the  tears.  For  a  mo 
ment  he  almost  forgot  his  errand,  but  the  sudden  recollec- 


324: 

tiou  of  Roxy'a  peril  sent  a  counter-current  of  feeling 
through  him.  He  put  his  hands  upon  the  bowl  which  she 
held  out  to  hiu,  and  said  : 

"  Dear  girl,  don't.     I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

The  eagerness  of  his  manner,  and  the  unwonted  tender 
ness  of  his  speech,  swept  away  the  rollicking  mood,  and 
gave  to  Twonnet's  face  a  flush  and  an  air  of  solemn  self- 
constraint,  at  strange  variance  with  her  previous  play 
fulness. 

"Dear  Twonnet/' — the  kindly  form  of  address  came 
from  the  complex  feelings  of  the  moment, — "  some  great 
calamity  is  about  to  happen  to  Roxy." 

Twonnet  breathed  a  sigh,  and  regained  something  of 
her  composure. 

"  There  are  painful  rumors  about  Mark.  I  can't  explain 
it  to  you.  There  is  no  one  else  that  can  help  her.  You 

are  the  wisest  woman  in  town.  You  are "  Here  Mr. 

Whittaker  checked  himself.  The  returning  flush  in  the 
face  of  the  young  woman  reminded  him  that  such  flatter 
ing  words  were  hardly  what  he  wanted  to  say  at  that 
time.  He  recovered  his  customary  reserve  of  manner, 
and  added :  "  Go !  Be  quick.  I'll  explain  to  your 
mother." 

"  But  what  shall  I  say  ? " 

"Nothing,  unless  you  think  best.  God  help  the  poor 
woman  1 " 

Twonnet  pulled  down  the  sleeves  of  her  dress,  donned 
her  sun-bonnet  and  hurried  off.  She  was  full  of  alarm 
for  Roxy ;  but  how  many  emotions  can  exist  in  the  soul 
at  once !  In  her  heart  of  hearts  there  was  a  melody  made 
by  the  words  of  commendation  that  Mr.  Whittaker  had 
uttered.  He  had  spoken  kindly,  even  tenderly.  But  as 
she  drew  near  to  Roxy's  house,  the  undercurrent  of 


COMING  DARKNESS.  325 

pleasurable  excitement  had   vanished.     The   shadow  of 
Borne  great  sorrow  of  Roxy's  fell  upon  her. 

When  she  went  in,  she  found  Roxy  impassively  looking 
out  of  the  window.  The  millions  upon  millions  of  pigeons 
were  still  flying,  and  she  was  watching  them  in  the  same 
numb  fashion  as  in  the  morning.  She  greeted  Twonnet 
with  a  silent  embrace.  Then  Twonnet  sat  down  by 
her  with  no  words.  Roxy  scanned  Twonnet's  face.  Then 
she  looked  out  at  the  pigeons  again.  They  kept  coming 
over  the  southern  hills  and  flying  so  steadily  to  the  north 
in  such  long  and  bewildering  flocks  of  countless  multitude. 
The  very  monotony  of  the  apparition  of  new  myriads  when 
the  other  myriads  had  swiftly  disappeared,  suited  Roxy's 
numb  state.  She  had  eaten  no  dinner.  A  deadly  appre 
hension  of  disaster  filled  her  thoughts,  and  she  read  a  confir 
mation  of  her  fear  in  Twonnet's  face,  and  in  her  silence, 
but  she  did  not  ask  anything.  She  kept  on  watching 
for  the  next  great  flock  of  swift-flying  birds  to  come  out 
of  the  horizon. 


.  CHAPTER  XLYL 

KCIY   SHAKES   THE   DUST   FKOM   HER   FEET. 

"  MB.  McG-owAN,  what  are  you  hunting  for  ? " 

It  was  the  shrill  voice  of  Mother  Tartrum.  She  aud 
Mrs.  Hanks  on  their  way  to  convey  bad  intelligence  to 
Roxy  had  come  suddenly  on  Jim  who  was  still  looking  up 
and  down  the  rows  of  the  vineyard. 

"Fei  a  crow,"  said  Jim,  a  little  disconcerted.  Then 
he  added  in  soliloquy,  "  Fer  the  blackest  one  I  kin 
find." 

"That  man,"  said  Mother  Tartrum,  "ought  to  be 
stopped.  He's  going  to  shoot  Mr.  Bonamy.  I'm  sure  of 
it.  He  said  to  me  this  morning  that  he'd  like  to  get  a 
shot  at  him  with  his  rifle." 

u  Oh,  dear  ! "  said  Mrs.  Hanks,  as  they  came  to  the  gate. 
"  How  awful  that  would  be  !  "  But  she  could  not  help 
reflecting  that  in  case  of  such  an  awful  result  Roxy  would 
get  her  "  thirds  "  of  a  very  nice  property. 

Twonnet  from  the  window  saw  Mother  Tartrum  and 
Mrs.  Hanks  come  in  at  the  gate.  Roxy  was  still  looking 
off  vacantly  at  the  sky  and  the  pigeons. 

"  Mrs.  Hanks  is  coining,"  said  Twonnet,  gently  rousing 
Roxy  by  laying  her  hand  on  her  arm.  Roxy  shuddered 
like  one  reviving  from  unconsciousness. 

"When  the  visitors  knocked,  Twonnet  admitted  them 
and  stood  by  Roxy's  chair  when  they  had  seated  themselves 
There  was  a  veiy  awkward  pause. 


'ROXY  SHAKES  TEE  DUST  FROM  HER  FEET.    327 

"  Miss  Lefaure,"  said  Mrs.  Hanks,  "  we  should  like  to 
see  Roxy  alone." 

But  Roxy  looked  at  Twonnet  appealingly  and  took 
hold  of  her  dress,  much  as  a  timid  child  might  have 
done. 

"  I  think  Roxy  wants  me  to  stay  here,"  said  Twonnet. 
"  We've  stood  by  one  another  in  every  trouble,  you 
know." 

"  As  her  aunt  I  suppose  I  am  her  next  friend,"  said  Mrs. 
Hanks,  testily,  "and  I  have  a  very  confidential  communi 
cation  to  make." 

"  Best  friends  aren't  always  born  in  one's  family,  Mrs. 
Hanks,  especially  when  one  happens  to  be  born  as  Roxy 
was,  poorer  than  her  relations."  Twonnet  made  this 
rasping  speech  from  an  instinctive  wish  to  draw  to  herself 
the  fire  of  Mrs.  Hanks  and  so  to  shield  the  smitten  Roxy 
from  that  lady's  peculiar  lecturing  abilities. 

Mrs.  Hanks  bridled  with  anger,  but  Mother  Tartrum's 
voluble  tongue  caught  the  wind  first.  Turning  her  sharp 
gray  eyes  ^restlessly  from  side  to  side  under  her  spectacles, 
she  came  out  with  a  characteristic  speech : 

"  ISTovv  Miss  Lefaure,  we've  got  something  very  important 
to  say  to  Mrs.  Bonamy — very  important,  and  an  awful 
secret,  too.  It  refers  to  Mrs.  Bonamy's  private  affairs — to 
her  relations  with  her  husband.  And  we  don't  choose  to 
have  you  hear  it  It  isn't  fit  for  a  young  woman  to  hear. 
You  just  go  in  the  other  room,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Not  till  Roxy  tells  me  to.  I  know  what  you  are  going 
to  talk  about.  It  isn't  such  an  awful  secret.  It's  talked 
about  all  over  town,  I  suppose." 

At  this  suggestion  of  publicity,  Roxy  shuddered  again. 

"  Oh,  somebody's  been  telling  it,  have  they  ?  I  suppose 
you  hurried  down  here  to  tell  it.  People  are  such  tattleri 


328  ROXT. 

nowadays.  Even  young  people  aint  ashamed  to  talk 
about  the  worst  things.  Well,  Mrs.  Hanks,  if  they  know, 
I  suppose  we  might  as  well  go."  Mother  Tartrum  could 
not  bear  that  everybody  else  in  town  should  be  talking  of 
the  scandal  and  she  be  out  of  the  way.  She  felt  that  peo 
ple  were  infringing  her  copyright. 

Bobo  had  by  this  time  come  into  the  room  and  stood 
behind  his  mother's  chair  observing  Roxy's  face.  He  had 
before  noticed  that  Roxy  was  not  pleasantly  affected  by 
his  mother's  presence  and  he  was  possessed  with  the  im 
pulse  to  defend  Roxy  at  all  times.  He  came  round  in 
front  of  his  mother's  chair  and  said  : 

"  You'd  better  be  going,  Aunt  Henrietta." 

Mrs.  Hanks  grew  red  with  indignation,  and  Bobo  drew 
back  for  fear  of  a  box  on  the  ears. 

"Well,  Roxy,  if  you'd  listened  to  my  advice  you  might 
have  seen  better  days.  But  even  now  you  wont  talk  to  me 
about  your  affairs.  And  so  your  husband's  disgraced  you. 
Are  you  going  to  put  up  with  it  and  stay?  That's  the 
question.  You  can  get  a  divorce  and  get  your  share  of 
the  property.  I  came  down  to  advise  you  because  I  have 
your  interests  at  heart.  But  I  do  wish  you'd  consult  more 
with  me.  And  you  might  take  pains  to  teach  my  own 
child  not  to  be  so  impudent  to  me.  He  will  call  me  aunt. 
Now  I  think  we'd  better  go  back,  Mrs.  Tartrum." 

"  '  Go  back,  go  back/  he  cried  with  grief, 

4  Across  the  stormy  water. 
And  I'll  forgive  your  Highland  chief,— 
My  daughter,  oh,  my  daughter  I ' " 

muttered  Bobo,  who  had  committed  endless  strings  oi 
poetry  and  in  whose  mind  an  echo  of  memory  was  easily 
set  agoing  by  the  sound  of  a  word. 


BOXY  SHAKE. J  THE  DUST  FROM  HER  FEET.  329 

"  I  must  say,  Roxy,"  said  Mrs.  Hanks,  with  asperity, 
"  that  I  think  troubles  are  sometimes  judgments  on  people. 
Some  women  put  up  with  things,  but  you  wont,  I'm  sure, 
and  if  you  should  get  a  divorce  you  could  get  a  good 
alimony,  and " 

"  No,  no !  "  cried  Roxy,  getting  to  her  feet.  "  What  do 
you  talk  to  me  that  way  for  ? "  Then  she  sat  down  again , 
fiery  but  silent. 

"  Aunt  Henrietta,  you'd  better  go,  right  off" 

"Bobo,  you're  too  aggravating  for  anything,"  cried 
Mrs.  Hanks.  "  To  be  insulted  by  my  own  child  !  " 

But  she  took  the  advice  and  departed,  while  Bobo, 
whose  brain  was  now  seething  with  confused  excitement, 
swung  his  arms  in  triumph  and  chuckled  : 

u  They're  gone  over  bank,  bush  and  scaur, 

'  They'll  have  fleet  steeds  that  follow,'  quoth  young 
Lochinvar. " 

"  Twonnet,"  said  Roxy,  "  what  is  this  thing  that  is  so 
dreadful  ?  Everybody  says  it  is  awful  and  nobody  will 
tell  me  what  it  is." 

"  I  don't  know,  Roxy.  I  am  like  the  man  in  the  Bible 
that  ran  without  a  message.  I  heard  that  there  was  some 
scandal  about  Mark,  and  I  came  right  off  to  you.  Mr. 
Wliittaker  told  me  to  come.  I  didn't  hear  what  it  was. 
But  I'm  glad  you  didn't  hear  it  from  them." 

"  Has "     But  Roxy  hesitated. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  asked  Twonnet,  tenderly. 

"  Has  Mark  gone  away  for  good  ?  " 

•'  I  don't  know.  I  didn't  know  that  he  had  gone  at 
all." 

Roxy  leaned  her  head  upon  the  window  sill  and  laj 


330  ROXT. 

thus  a  long  time.  Twonnet  looked  out  of  the  window 
She  saw  a  figure  moving  among  the  vines.  Then  Nancy 
Kirtley  came  stealthily  out  into  the  walk  and  approached 
the  house.  Twonnet  looked  at  her  for  a  minute.  Then 
she  said : 

"  Hoxy,  I  do  believe  there  is  that  same  Kirtley  girl  tliat 
we  saw  a  long  time  ago — the  night  Haz's  baby  died." 

"  Oh.  Twonnet ! "  said  itoxy,  catching  hold  of  he:r 
friend.  "  She's  the  one  that  all  this  is  about.  I  know 
now.  How  can  I  see  her  ?  I  can't  1  I  hate  her ! "  And 
she  buried  her  head  in  her  hands. 

"  You  mustn't  see  her,"  said  Twonnet,  shuddering. 

"  Yes,  1  must,  if  it  kills  me.  I  must  know  the  worst  of 
it.  Bring  her  in  here.  Bobo,  go  out." 

Nancy  was  in  a  hurry.  Dimly  through  the  rows  of 
vines  she  had  caught  sight  of  Jim  McGowan  searching 
every  avenue  for  Mark.  She  had  not  recognized  him, 
but  was  sure  that  this  man  with  a  gun  was  some  emissary 
of  Lathers,  bent  on  arresting  her,  or  of  recapturing  from 
her  the  precious  paper  with  which  she  hoped  to  drive 
Hoxy  away  from  her  husband.  There  was,  therefore,  no 
time  to  be  lost.  She  entered  without  a  sign  of  recogni 
tion,  and  sat  herself  down  boldly — almost  fiercely — in 
front  of  Roxy.  But  there  was  something  so  awful  in  the 
rigid  face  of  this  woman,  who  drew  back  from  her  as 
from  a  hateful  and  polluted  thing,  that  Nancy  found  it 
hard  to  begin.  She  began  to  feel  a  stinging  sense  of  her 
disgrace,  She  had  no  circumlocutions  at  command.  Her 
story  was  soon  told.  To  the  pure  and  sensitive  Roxy  it 
seemed  sc  hideously  repulsive,  so  horrible  in  the  black 
consequences  that  it  must  bring,  that — woman-like — she 
refused  to  believe  it,  or,  rather,  she  refused  to  admit  that 
she  beLeved  it,  in  spite  of  all  the  evidence  that  her  own 


ROXT  SHAKES  THE  DUST  FROM  HER  FEET.  331 

knowledge  of  Mark's  recent  behavior  furnished  in  con 
firmation. 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  you  say,"  she  said  to  Nancy. 

"  You  don't,  hey  ?  I  knowed  you  was  stuck-up.  You 
stole  him  from  me,  and  I  swore  I'd  be  even.  I  'low  I'm 
gittin  purty  nigh  even  about  this  time.  Looky  heer, 
heer's  a  watch-seal  that  Mark  Bonamy  gin  me  when  he 
was  a-runnin'  fer  the  legislater  in  eighteen  and  forty. 
That's  four  year  ago,  soon  after  the  night  he  danced  aH 
night  with  me,  and  gin  all  the  rest  the  go-by.  You  don't 
believe  that's  his'n  ?  Well,  whose  Testament's  this  ?  He 
gimme  that  at  Canaan.  That  come  when  he  was  a 
preacher.  You're  a  town  gal,  and  you  kin  read  the 
writin'  in  that  Testament.  You  see  he  loved  me  right 
along.  I'll  leave  it  to  you,  yourself,  which  a  man  would 
be  likely  to  love  most,  you  or  me,  now  ? "  And  she 
pushed  back  her  sun-bonnet  and  showed  her  beautiful 
face,  fascinating  as  a  leopard's. 

Roxy  drew  away  from  her  with  loathing. 

"  You  hateful  creature  !  "  she  said.  "  You  aren't  tell 
ing  the  truth."  But  she  knew  that  Nancy's  story  was  true. 

"Oh  yes!  you  don't  like  me.  I  don't  wonder  at  that. 
I'm  goiu'  to  git  even  weth  Mark,  I  am.  Him  an'  Major 
Lathers  has  been  a-lettin'-on  he  was  agoiiV  off  weth  me  to 
Texas.  I'll  show  'em  1  Look  at  that  paper,  won't  you  ? " 
Here  she  handed  the  paper  to  Roxy,  who  saw  these  words, 
in  a  handwriting  she  could  not  mistake : 

"  Whatever  arrangement  Major  Lathers  makes  with  Nancy  Kirtley  1 
will  carry  out. 

"MARK  BONAMY." 

"  That  was  got  up  to  fool  me,"  proceeded  Nancy,  by 
way  of  exposition.  "  Now,  Mark  Bonamy  can  do  as  ha 


332  ROXT. 

pleases.  He  kin  go  off  weth  me,  or  I'll  have  him  tuck  upi 
An'  you'll  larn,  sis,  whether  it's  safe  to  fool  weth  Nanco 
Kirtley's  beaus  or  not.  I'll  git  even  weth  the  whole  kit 
and  tuck  of  you,  by  thunder!  It's  a  way  the  Kirtleys 
has,  you  know."  And  her  eyes  beamed  with  a  ferocious 
exultation,  as  she  saw  a  look  of  hopeless  pain  overspread 
the  face  of  her  victim. 

Then  Nancy  gathered  up  from  the  floor,  where  Roxy 
liad  partly  dropped  and  partly  thrown  them,  her  Testa 
ment  and  her  watch-seal  and  the  paper  taken  from  Lathers, 
and  departed,  keeping  a  good  look-out  for  sheriffs  who 
might  want  to  take  her  up. 

"  Twonnet,"  said  Roxy,  when  Nancy  had  gone,  "  let's 
get  out  of  this  house.  It  smothers  me.  I  shall  die  if  I 
stay  here.  I  hate  everything  here.  It  seems  like  a  kind 
of  hell ! " 

She  got  up  and  went  to  her  own  room.  She  changed 
her  gown  for  one  that  she  had  worn  before  her  marriage. 
She  gathered  up  the  few  little  treasures  she  had  yet  from 
her  girlhood,  and  put  away  everything  that  had  been 
bought  with  Mark's  money.  Then  she  took  her  bundle 
and  started  out  the  door.  The  hired  girl  came  after  her 
to  the  piazza  in  amazement,  and  asked  if  she  would  be 
home  to  supper.  But  she  shook  her  head  in  silence  and 
went  on,  followed  by  Bobo  and  Twonnet. 

Her  father,  who  had  heard  the  scandal  by  this  tim^ 
met  her  in  the  road,  not  far  from  the  gate.  She  reached 
out  her  hand  and  took  his  with  a  little  sob,  and  the  stern 
old  shoe-maker  ground  his  teeth,  but  said  nothing.  Hand 
in  hand  walked  the  father  and  the  daughter,  followed  by 
Bobo  and  Twonnet,  till  they  entered  the  old  log-house,, 
with  its  familiar  long  clock  and  high  mantel-piece  and 
wide  fire-place,  Mrs.  Rachel  Adams  and  Jemima  met 


EOXY  SHAKES  TEE  DUST  FROM  HER  FEET.    333 

her  with  tears  ;  only  Roxy  neither  cried  nor  spoke. 
In  her  own  upper  room  she  set  down  her  bundle  with 
a  sigh,  and  then,  exhausted,  lay  down  again  on  her  own 
bed,  and  lay  there,  with  Twonnet  by  her,  until  the  day 
died  intc  dusk  and  the  dusky  twilight  darkened  into 
Bight 


CHAPTER  XLVIL 

A   DAY   OF   JUDGMENT. 

MARTHA  ANN,  the  hired  girl,  was  so  stunned  by  the 
manner  of  Mrs.  Bonamy's  departure,  that  she  went  to  the 
nearest  neighbor's  to  reconnoiter.  Hearing  the  wildest 
reports  of  the  scandal,  she  made  up  her  mind  solemnly 
and  conclusively  that  it  wa'ii't  no  kind  of  a  house  fer  a 
respectable  and  decent  young  woman  to  stay  in.  So  she 
went  into  the  field  and  unburdened  herself  to  the  old 
negro,  Bob,  who  had  been  with  the  Bonamys  as  slave,  and 
then  as  hireling,  all  his  life.  Bob,  with  true  negro  non- 
com  mittalism,  didn't  know  nothin'  'bout  dat  ah.  Fer  his 
paht,  he  was  agoin'  to  put  dem  'arly  taters  in  de  grotm'  ef 
white  folks  fell  out  wid  one  an  udder  or  ef  dey  fell  in 
ag'in.  Teared  like  as  if  white  folks  was  allus  a-habin  a 
spiteful  time.  Didn't  reckon  'twould  hu't  his  character  to 
stay  awhile  in  de  ole  house.  Anyways  he  was  a-gwine  to 
stick  dese  h'yer  'arly  taters  into  de  groun'. 

But  Martha  Ann  left.  She  did  not  go  home  that  night, 
but  stopped  with  a  second  cousin  in  the  village,  so  that 
she  might  have  the  pleasure  of  being  consulted  by  the 
gossips  as  a  high  authority  on  the  internal  infelicity  of  the 
Bonamy  household.  And  she  sincerely  tried  to  recall 
something  worth  telling,  giving  her  memory  a  serious 
strain  in  the  effort. 

It  was  while  the  town  was  in  this  white  heat  of  excited 
curiosity,  that  Mark  Bonamy  rode  his  dripping  horse 


A  DAY  OF  JUDGMENT.  335 

through  the  streets.  Lathers  had  hailed  him,  with  the 
purpose  of  warning  him  against  McGowan's  rifle.  He 
spurned  the  sheriff  as  he  would  have  spurned  an  emissary 
of  the  devil. 

He  rode  into  his  own  gate  with  dread.  Martha  Ann 
bad  not  felt  obliged  to  close  the  doors,  so  that  the  place 
had  the  air  of  oeing  inhabited  yet.  He  threw  the  bridle- 
reins  over  the  hitching-post  in  front  of  the  house,  and 
alighted.  He  went  across  the  porch,  into  the  hall,  through 
the  sitting-room,  into  the  parlor.  The  horrible  forebod 
ing  that  he  was  too  late  to  make  the  confession  he  should 
have  made  before,  gradually  deepened  now  into  certainty. 
He  hurried  upstairs,  hoping  that  Roxy  might  be  there. 
There  was  Roxy's  apparel,  as  she  had  left  it.  He  opened 
the  drawers — there  were  all  the  things  he  had  ever  given 
her.  Her  dresses  hung  in  the  old-fashioned  clothes-press. 
He  did  not  doubt  that  she  had  gone.  But  she  had  gone 
— Roxy  like — not  meanly,  but  proudly. 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  he  felt  what  a  woman  she  was. 
How  had  he  failed  in  his  pride  of  birth  and  conceit  of 
smartness,  to  understand  her  superiority  !  He  had  looked 
with  condescension  on  a  woman  who  was  utterly  above 
him.  Here  was  to  be  no  suit  for  alimony — not  an  un 
necessary  shoe-latchet  of  his  would  she  carry  away.  These 
things  strewn  about  the  room  said  plainly  that,  having 
loved  her  husband  and  not  his  possessions,  she  utterly  re 
jected  what  was  his  when  she  cast  him  off. 

Mark  cursed  his  own  folly  and  wickedness.  In  that 
hour  of  desertion  and  loneliness,  he  loved  Roxy  as  he  had 
never  loved  her  before.  How  would  he  have  died  to  have 
undone  all  this  evil !  He  went  to  the  kitchen  to  find  Martha 
Ann ;  but  she  also  had  gene.  He  made  no  doubt  Bob  had 
deserted,  too.  iTe  was  a  leper,  forsaken  by  his  household, 


336  ROXT. 


Keturning  to  the  sitting-room,  he  sat  dowr.  where  Koxj 
had  sat  before;  he  rested  his  head  on  the  table  until 
night  came  on.  Darkness,  Solitude,  and  .Remorse  are  a 
grim  and  hateful  company. 

Bob  had  come  near  the  house  once  or  twice  ;  but,  see 
ing  no  one,  he  had  gone  to  "  do  his  ehoores."  At  last, 
when  it  was  fairly  dark,  he  concluded  that,  as  the  master 
had  not  come  back,  he  would  better  abut  up  the  doors. 
So  he  went  stumbling  about  the  house,  looking  for  a  candle. 
Supposing  himself  alone  in  the  deserted  place,  it  seemed 
a  little  frightful  to  his  superstitious  mind,  and  he  cheered 
himself  with  soliloquy  and  the  childish  humor  of  his 
race. 

"  Bob,  it  peahs  like  as  ef  ev'ybody's  clean  cl'ar'd  out 
and  done  lef  dis  yeah  place  to  you.  Ilyah  !  hyah  1  Yo' 
house,  yo'  barn,  yo'  bosses.  Sho,  Bob,  you's  a-gittin'  too 
lich  fo'  a  niggah.  Dribe  roun'  in  yo'  own  ca'idge,  now, 
and  keep  anudder  niggah.  Be  a  lawyeh,  I  reckon,  an' 
'scuss  things  afo'  de  jedge.  Kim  fp1  Cong'ess  nex'. 
'Taint  ev'y  day  a  ole  niggah  drops  down  into  a  han'some 

house  an' Good  goramity  1  Oh  1  My  Lor'  1  Who's 

dis  heah?" 

Bob  had  run  against  Mark,  who  sat  still  by  the  table. 
The  old  negro  soon  appreciated  the  position  of  things, 
was  profuse  in  his  apologies,  declared  that  what  he  was 
saying  he  didn't  mean,  was  on'y  jes'  a-foolin',  ye  knowt 
Bah. 

"  Bol ,"  said  Mark,  "  what  time  did  Mrs.  Bonamy  go 
away  ? " 

"  Don'  sahtainly  know,  sah.  A  pooty  good  while  ago, 
sab.  Done  been  gone  a  right  smart  while,  sah.  May  be 
a  little  longer'n  dat,  sah.  Can't  tell,  ye  know  I  was  out 
a  -plantin'  'arly  taters  an " 


A  DAY  OF  JUDGMENT.  337 

"  Did  Martha  Ann  go  with  her  ? " 

"  No,  sah,  not  zactly  wid  her,  sah.  She  come  out  to  me 
wid  a  whole  lot  o'  nonsense  about  goin'  off,  an'  about  her 
eha'acter.  An'  I  tole  her,  says  I " 

"  Who's  been  here  to-day  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sah.  I  see  sev'al,  may  be  mo'n  sev'al, 
ladies  a-comin'  in.  Mis  Hanks  an'  ole  Mis  Tahtrum,  an' 
a  gal  in  a  snnbonnet  I  see  agoin'  out,  and  Mis  Twonnet 
war  heah  nigh  onto  de  whole  day,  an' — laws,  now,  dah's 
dat  hoss  you  rid  a-nickerin'  out  dah.  Never  mind,  honey, 
I'll  come  and  put  ye  in  de  stable  direckly." 

And  the  old  man,  after  fumbling  around  awhile,  lit  the 
solar  lamp  on  the  table.  Then  he  started  to  take  care  of 
the  horse,  bat  seemed  to  think  he'd  forgotten  something. 
He  came  back  to  the  door,  and  said  : 

"  'Peahs  like's  ef  you  was  a-havin'  hard  trials  and  much 
trebbelations  lately.  Lean  on  de  Lord,  Massa  Mark,  and 
he  will  restrain  ye,  though  de  floods  overflow  ye,  an'  the 
waters  slosh  over  yo'  head,  an' " 

"  There,  that'll  do.     Go  on,  Bob,"  said  Mark. 

The  old  man,  after  stabling  the  horse,  returned  to  the 
house  and  got  some  kind  of  a  supper  for  Mark,  which  he 
put  upon  a  tray  and  set  on  the  table  in  front  of  him. 
Then  he  retired,  leaving  Mark  again  in  the  society  of  the 
black  sisters — Night,  Loneliness,  and  Remorse.  He  left 
the  supper  untouched.  He  wandered  about  the  grounds 
and  the  house.  The  one  uppermost  thought  in  his  mind 
was  suicide".  It  was  quite  characteristic  of  him  that  his 
remorse  should  take  this  intense  form.  Roxy's  character 
seemed  to  him  so  noble,  and  his  own  so  full  of  paltry 
meanness  and  large  wickedness,  that,  for  very  shame,  and 
as  the  only  adequate  expression  of  his  repentance  and 
affection  for  her  whom  he  had  wronged,  he  thought  he 
15 


338  ROXT. 

ought  to  snuff  out  a  life  that  seemed  to  have  no  goodness 
in  its  past,  and  :io  promise  in  its  future.  He  had,  ia 
times  past,  forgotten  and  broken  all  good  resolution ;?. 
lie  dared  not  trust  himself  to  do  better  in  the  future. 
fBut,  in  fact,  Bonamy  was  in  a  better  state  than  ever 
/before.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  dragged  his 
whole  character  to  the  bar  of  judgment.  In  all  his  reli 
gious  experiences,  no  conviction  had  ever  probed  the  weak 
ness  of  his  nature  to  the  bottom.  The  Mark  Bonamy 
looking  suicide  in  the  face,  was  better  than  the  religionist, 
Bonamy,  with  his  surface  enthusiasm.  When  Iscariot 
killed  himself,  it  was  because  for  the  first  time  he  knew 
himself,  and  realized  that  the  world  had  no  use  or  place 
for  such  as  he.  There  was  more  hope  for  him  then,  had 
he  only  known  it,  than  when  he  sat  complacently  at  the 
feet  of  the  Master. 

It  seemed  to  Mark  that  only  by  ending  his  life  could 
he  adequately  atone  for  his  fault.  The  fear  of  the  perdi 
tion  of  popular  belief  did  not  deter  him.  Penal  suffering 
would  have  been  a  relief  to  his  conscience.  If  he  could 
have  burned  out  the  remorse,  he  would  have  taken  any 
amount  of  burning.  He  began  gradually  to  resolve  on 
and  then  to  plan  for  suicide.  Roxy  should  know  at  the 
last  that  he  was  not  wholly  mean,  and  that  in  spite  of  all 
his  evil,  he  loved  her.  He  would  arrange  his  affairs, 
bequeath  his  estate  to  Boxy,  except  a  sum  for  the  care  of 
Nancy's  child,  when  it  should  be  born.  Roxy  might  re 
ject  the  estate,  if  she  chose ;  but,  having  done  what  he 
could  to  repair  his  fault,  he  would  flee  out  of  life. 

But,  even  with  this  decision,  the  ignoble  side  of  his 
nature  had  more  to  do  than  he  supposed.  It  is  easier  for 
a  man  who  dreads  suffering,  and  mortification  and  com 
plex  difficulties,  and  the  slow  agony  of  moral  convalea- 


A  DAT  OF  JUDGMENT.  339 

cence,  to  escape  from  life,  than  to  fight  one's  way  to  such 
goodness  as  lies  in  reach,  and  then  to  live  with  the  con 
sciousness  that  it  is  but  a  half-way  goodness  after  all,  very 
uncertain  and  untrustworthy,  liable  to  fall  down  easily 
and  subject  one  to  new  mortifications  and  a  Sisyphian 
toil. 


CHAPTER  XLYIIL 

» 

THE   TEMPTER. 

HAZ  KIRTLEY,  the  drayman,  lived  in  that  part  of  th<9 
town  situated  on  the  lower  bank  next  the  water.  Since 
the  great  freshet  of  1832,  when  the  Ohio  had. swept  clean 
over  this  lower  level,  it  had  been  abandoned  by  most  of 
the  inhabitants  of  the  well-to-do  class.  And  now  the  vil 
lage  cows  grazed  over  green  commons,  where  before  had 
been  rose  gardens  and  grape  arbors.  Some  of  the  houses 
had  been  removed,  but  some  which  were  damaged  by  the 
water  were  allowed  to  remain  in  a  ruined  state,  tenanted 
by  the  families  of  fishermen  and  other  such  folk,  and  by 
rats.  This  part  of  the  village  was  called  Slabtown  in 
familiar  speech,  and  here  lived  the  Kirtleys  in  a  house  but 
one  room  of  which  had  been  finished,  when  the  freshet  came 
and  drove  the  owner  to  a  secure  refuge  on  the  high  ter 
race.  Hither  came  Nancy  in  a  state  of  vengeful  exulta 
tion  after  she  had  stabbed  Roxy  Bonamy  by  the  evidences 
which  she  was  able  to  produce  of  Mark's  infidelity. 

Notwithstanding  Nancy  availed  herself  of  the  shelter 
of  her  brother's  house  without  hesitation,  a  state  of  cat- 
and-dog  discord  had  long  subsisted  between  her  and  the 
drayman's  wife.  Mrs.  Hezekiah  Kirtley  was  a  tall,  raw- 
boned  woman  such  as  the  poor-whitey  class  produces  iu 
abundance.  She  was  not  fair  of  countenance.  Haz  did 
not  marry  her  for  comeliness  of  face  or  figure.  In  fact, 
Haz  could  hardly  be  said  (o  have  married  her  at  all ;  on 


THE  TEMPTER. 

the  contrary  she  married  him.  Her  charms  weie  resisti 
ble,  but  her  persevering  determination  was  not. 

.Nancy  had  long  enjoyed  setting  off  her  own  magnifi 
cent  figure,  large,  lustrous  black  eyes,  glossy  eyebrows, 
abundant  hair,  symmetrical  features,  red,  sensuous  Jips, 
white  teeth  and  ruddy  healthful  cheeks,  with  the  hatchet 
face  and  hard,  repellant  eyes  of  her  lank  sister-in-law. 
She  could  not  forbear  trying  to  make  her  sister-in-law 
appreciate  the  contrast.  The  consequence  was  a  perpet 
ual  irritation  between  them,  sure  to  end  in  an  open  quar 
rel  pretty  soon  after  every  coming  together. 

Now  that  Nancy  was  disgraced,  it  could  not  be  expected 
that  Mrs.  Haz  would  be  magnanimous.  She  had  been  hu 
miliated  so  long  that  her  present  opportunity  was  golden. 
She  began  with  innuendoes  and  ended  with  downright 
abuse.  Nancy  sat  on  the  hearth  glowering  and  growling 
savage  retorts  like  a  fierce  beast  driven  to  bay  at  last,  sul 
len  but  not  despairing.  She  felt  more  hopeful  when  Haz 
came  home  to  supper  with  the  news  of  Mrs.  Bonamy's  de 
sertion  of  her  home  and  of  Bonamy's  return.  But  Haz's 
wife  grew  steadily  more  violent,  her  words  fanned  her 
passion ;  she  called  Nancy  vile  names  ;  taunted  her  with 
her  folly  and  the  inevitable  disappointment  and  disgrace 
in  store  for  her,  and  set  the  savage  creature  wild  with  im 
potent  wrath.  The  girl  refused  to  go  to  bed  on  the  straw 
pallet  in  the  unfinished  loft,  but  sat  staring  sulkily  at  the 
tallow  candle.  And  the  hope  of  success  in  her  schemes 
sank  down  within  her  like  the  flame  of  the  expiring  can* 
die,  flickering  in  its  socket.  At  length,  as  midnight  came 
on,  when  the  exhausted  Mrs.  Haz  had  been  sleeping  sound 
ly  for  an  hour  or  two,  Nancy  rose  up  from  her  chair  and 
started  out  in  the  darkness,  taking  her  way  through  the 
town  and  toward  the  Bonamy  place. 


342  £0X7. 

Bonarnj1  had  wandered  about  wildly  all  the  ea/ly  part  of 
the  night  and  had  then  sat  down  in  the  lighted  sitting- 
room,  exhausted  with  the  strain  of  emotion  and  the  fatigue 
of  the  day.  He  was  a  condemned  prisoner.  There  was 
no  road  out  of  his  perplexity  but  by  death.  In  vain  he 
had  beaten  against  the  bars  on  every  side.  There  was 
nothing  else  for  him.  After  awhile  he  heard  the  sound 
of  feet  coming  up  the  steps  and  across  the  porch  and 
through  the  hall,  and  Nancy  Kirtley  came  unceremoni 
ously  to  the  door  of  the  room  where  he  sat.  She  was  not 
quite  the  old  Nancy.  The  air  of  vanity  and  coquetry  was 
gone.  The  face,  if  anything,  was  more  striking  than  be 
fore.  Her  present  passion  was  a  bad  one,  but  it  was  a 
serious  one.  There  was  an  unwonted  fire  in  her  eyes,  and 
though  it  was  a  fire  of  desperation,  it  was  at  least  a  sign 
of  some  sort  of  awakening. 

"  Mark  Bonamy,  you  and  Lathers  has  been  a-f oolin' 
weth  me,"  she  said  defiantly.  "  All  the  blame  fools  is  a- 
laughin'  at  me  now,  and  callin'  me  bad  names.  I  haint 
agoin'  to  be  fooled  weth.  I  come  to  see  whether  you'd  do 
the  fa'r  thing  by  me." 

"  What  is  fair  ? "  said  Mark. 

"  Why,  go  away  weth  me,  like  Major  Lathers  promised. 
Ycur  ole  woman's  gone,  and  she  wont  never  come  back,  I 
'low.  She'll  git  a  divorce.  Now,  what  air  you  goin'  to  do 
ferme?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  You  don't  know  ?  You  don't  know  ?  They  haint  on'y 
jest  one  thing  fer  you  er  me.  Let's  light  out  of  this  ere 
country.  You  can't  stay  here.  Hoxy  Adams  has  left  you. 
Now  why  can't  you  take  keer  of  me  and  my  baby  ?  You 
know  it's  yourn,  too.  What'm  I  to  do  ?  At  Rocky  Fork 
they'll  all  laugh  afc  me— hang  'em !  Haz's  wife,  she's  jest 


THE  TEMPTER.  343 

about  kicked  me  out.  And  now  you're  goin'  to  throw  me 
overboard.  And  to-rnorry  I  wont  have  no  friend  to  my 
name.  Every  body '11  hate  me  and  sass  me.  An'  I  jest 
wont  stan'  it — I  can't  staii'  it  no  longer  1 "  And  Nance 
sat  down  and  cried. 

Mark's  quick  feeling  was  touched.  He  knew  that  Nan 
cy  herself  had  plotted  this  ruin ;  but  her  grief  at  its  un 
foreseen  results  was  real.  lie  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
suicide.  Here  was  a  sort  of  suicide  in  life  that  he  might 
commit.  He  was  nothing  now  to  Roxy.  Why  not  deliver 
this  other  woman  from  the  shame  he  had  helped  to  bring 
upon  her.  And  then,  there  was  the  unborn  child;  it 
would  also  have  a  claim  upon  him.  There  was  Texas,  a 
wild  land  in  that  day,  a  refuge  of  bankrupts  and  fugitive 
criminals.  Among  these  people  he  might  come  to  be  a 
sort  of  a  leader,  and  make  some  sort  of  a  future  for  him 
self.  This  Nance  was  a  lawless  creature — a  splendid  sav 
age,  full  of  ferocity.  Something  of  the  sentiment  of 
Tennyson's  "Locksley  Hall"  was  in  him.  He  would 
commit  moral  suicide  instead  of  physical, — release  the  ani 
mal  part  of  his  nature  from  allegiance  to  what  was  better ; 
and,  since  he  had  failed  in  civilized  life,  he  might  try  his 
desperate  luck  as  a  savage.  It  was  easier  to  sink  the  pres- 
Bent  Bonamy  in  the  wild  elements  of  the  South-western 
frontier,  than  to  blow  out  his  brains  or  drown  himself. 

Moved  by  the  tears  of  Nancy  and  by  such  thoughts  as 
these,  he  got  to  his  feet,  with  an  impulse  to  canvass  the 
matter  with  Nancy.  Then  everything  about  him  remind 
ed  him  of  Roxy.  It  was  all  as  the  brave,  heart-broken 
woman  had  left  it.  After  all,  she  was  the  real  victim. 
Should  he  add  another  to  her  injuries?  The  recollection 
of  his  first  pure  love  for  the  enthusiastic  girl  came  back 
with  a  rush.  It  were  better  to  die  than  to  yield  again  tc 


344  ROXY. 

the  seductions  of  Nancy  >  even  when  a  sort  of  false  duty 
seemed  to  be  on  that  side.  lie  reirembered  how  like  a 
fierce  savage  Nance  had  made  war  on  Roxy,  and  with 
what  terrible  result.  With  one  of  those  quick  revulsioim 
to  which  impulsive  natures  are  subject,  he  felt  all  the  tido 
of  bitter  remorse  that  he  had  suffered  in  the  day  coining 
Lack. 

"  Nancy,  look  here  1 "     He  confronted  her  as  he  spoke. 
"  You  set  yourself  to  ruin  Roxy.     You  said  you  wanted  to 
break  her  heart.     You  know  you  did.     She  never  did  yon 
any  harm.     She  never  did  anybody  any  harm.     She's  one 
of  God's  angels,  and  you're  the  Devil's  devil.     So  am  I. 
God  knows  I'm  not  fit  for  Roxy.      But  I  wont  do  her  any 
more  harm.    I  wish  to  the  Lord  I'd  died  before  I  ever  did 
this.     Now,  Nancy,  I'll  provide  for  you  and  the  child. 
I'll  send  you  away  somewhere,  if  you  want  to  go.     But  I 
swear  now,  by  the  Almighty  God  in  Heaven,  that  I  never 
will  go  a  step  with  you !     I  am  sorry  for  you,  and  I'll  do 
whatever  you  want  as  to  money ;  but  the  devil  himself 
fiha'n't  make  me  go  off  with  you.     If  you  want  any  help, 
send  me  word ;  but  I  don't  want  to  see  you  any  more." 
"I'll  have  you  took  up,"  said  Nance,  fiercely. 
"I  don't  care.     I  ought  to  be  in.  jail." 
u  I'll  have  you  shot.     Blamed  ef  I  wont  1 " 
"You'll  have  to  be  quick.     I  mean  to  kill  myself  as 
soon  as  I  get  things  fixed  up.    If  your  father  or  brother  or 
Jim  McGrowan  get  the  first  shot,  it'll  save  trouble." 

Saying  so,  Mark  walked  away  upstairs,  leaving  Nancy 
to  get  out  as  she  could.  And,  indeed,  she  stood  a  long 
time  on  the  porch.  She  was  foiled,  and  all  her  venom 
turned  back  on  herself.  She  could  not  go  back  to  Rocky 
Fork.  The  world  had  turned  to  perdition.  The  vain,  ar 
rogant  creature  was  the  butt  of  everybody  now — a  de- 


THE  TEMPTER.  345 

Bpised  castaway,  whose  very  beauty  was  a  shame.  Even 
Mark  Bonamy  called  her  a  devil.  She  had  looked  in  ccn- 
tempt  on  all  the  women  of  her  world;  there  was  not  a 
woman  now,  in  all  her  world,  that  did  not  utterly  despise 
her.  Nothing  in  all  this  social  universe  is  so  utterly 
thrown  away  and  trodden  under  foot  as  a  dishonored 
woman.  And  even  the  unthinking  Nancy  felt  this  as  she 
walked  in  the  moonlight  along  the  river-bank  all  the  way 
back  toward  her  brother's  house,  which  the  cowed  crea* 
ture  dared  not  enter  again  that  night. 
15* 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

THE   HELPER. 

WHO  shall  take  account  of  the  difference  in  the  indi« 
\\Jual  manifestations  of  the  human  conscience  ?  There 
sitB  Nancy  Kirtley  on  the  bank  of  the  broad  river,  while 
the  white  light  of  the  declining  moon  is  on  its  waters, 
and  the  dim  Kentucky  hills  are  sinking  into  a  dark 
ness  that  will  soon  swallow  them  entirely.  If  you  could 
examine  her  consciousness  you  would  hardly  find  a 
sense  of  wrong-doing.  There  is  a  brute  sense  of  defeat, 
and,  perhaps,  a  feeling  that  she  has  blundered,  and 
that  some  other  course  might  have  been  better.  There 
is  something  which  a  sanguine  evolutionist  might  hope 
would  develop  into  a  conscience,  by  some  chance,  in 
many  generations.  But  what  eons  will  it  require  to  trans 
form  this  feeling  that  somebody  or  some  fate  unseen  has 
wronged  her,  into  a  moral  judgment  capable  of  distin 
guishing  and  respecting  the  rights  of  others  ? 

In  this  same  moonlight  night,  Whittaker,  who  has 
wrought  none  of  this  wrong,  is  troubled  by  it  so  that  he 
cannot  sleep.  The  scrupulous  man  must  ever  suffer  vi 
cariously.  The  sins  of  others  are  laid  upon  him  ;  he  is 
wounded  for  their  iniquities.  Such  extremes  are  there 
within  this  human  race  of  ours  1 

"Whittaker  was  profoundly  moved  that  night  by  haunt 
ing  thoughts  of  Roxy  in  her  anguish.  He  could  not  go 
to  offer  sympathy,  but  he  comforted  himself  with  think* 


TEE  HELPER.  347 

ing  of  Twonnet  keeping  watch  over  the  forlorn  woman. 
Then  he  remembered  with  more  indignation  than  pity  the 
guilty  man,  Bonamy.  From  general  rumor  Whittaker 
had  heard  of  Mark's  return  to  the  deserted  house.  Spite 
of  his  indignation,  the  minister  was  moved  a  little  when 
he  thought  of  him  with  no  companionship  but  that  of 
Night,  and  Loneliness,  and  Remorse.  Ought  not  he,  a 
servant  of  The  Servant,  to  seek  out  this  abandoned  leper 
and  help  him  in  the  hour  of  his  darkness  to  find  his  way 
back  into  regions  of  light,  of  cleanness,  and  of  human 
fellowship  ? 

Whittaker  was  shy  and  timid — the  bravest  men  are. 
He  shrank  from  intruding  into  the  troubles  of  others — 
the  most  sympathetic  people  do.  But  on  this  night  he  was 
tormented  about  an  affair  that  any  other  man  in  Luzerne 
would  have  said  was  none  of  his.  Such  are  the  gross 
inequalities  of  conscience.  Aaron  Burr  reads  cheerfully 
in  his  bath  with  a  fresh  murder  on  his  hands  ;  a  sensitive 
man  lies  awake  because  of  some  opportunity  neglected 
of  helping  one  who  has  himself  chiefly  to  blame  for  his 
own  troubles.  Behold  the  premium  one  must  pay  for 
elevation  of  character ! 

An  hour  after  midnight  Whittaker  got  up  and  looked 
out  on  the  moonlight  making  visible,  in  a  sweet  and 
dreamy  way,  the  chief  features  of  the  landscape.  It  was 
hardly  a  view,  but  a  sort  of  a  monochromatic  picture.  The 
moonlit  scene  bore  the  same  relation  to  the  familiar  day 
light  view  of  the  landscape  that  reverie  does  to  plain  and 
open  thought. 

Without  any  very  definite  purpose,  Whittaker  dressed 
himself  and  went  out.  The  broad  river  was  as  smooth  as 
glass ;  there  was  a  sky  below  in  symmetric  correspondence 
to  that  above.  Still  without  a  clear  notion  of  what  he 


348  ROXY. 

should  do,  or  co.Jd  do,  the  minister  took  the  way  toward 
Bellamy's,  walking  meditatively  here  and  there  under  a 
locust  in  full  and  fragrant  flower ;  even  the  grass- grown 
sidewalk  was  strewn  with  fallen  petals.  But  as  he  neared 
the  smitten  house  the  loveliness  of  the  night  landscape 
faded  from  his  thought  and  perceptions.  He  was  full  of 
conflicting  feelings.  He  felt  a  contempt  for  Bonamy's  self 
ish  weakness  of  character  ;  yet  he  could  not,  by  thinking 
of  this,  excuse  himself.  The  physician  is  sent  to  the  sick. 

There  was  the  light  in  the  sitting-room — the  lamp 
burned  as  steadily  as  it  could  have  done  if  the  house  were 
at  peace.  The  place  had  all  its  old  stateliness ;  for  the 
outer  circumstances  of  our  lives  will  not  respond  to  the 
trouble  within.  Who  could  have  guessed  that  a  solitary 
and  desperate  man  was  the  owner  of  this  house  ?  There 
he  sat  by  this  cheerful  home-light  with  hardly  one  ray  of 
hope  in  his  life  and  with  a  pistol,  newly  charged,  on  the 
table  in  front  of  him  ? 

Whittaker  opened  the  smaller  front  gate  quietly  and 
then  took  his  course  up  the  path  across  the  black  belts 
made  by  the  long  shadows  of  the  poplars,  toward  the 
porch.  The  large  front  door  stood  open  as  Nancy  had 
left  it,  but  Mark  had  closed  the  door  from  the  hall-way  to 
the  sitting-room  on  his  return  to  that  room  after  Nancy's 
departure.  Whittaker,  with  much  palpitation,  knocked  at 
this  inner  door. 

"  Come  in."     The  voice  had  a  strangely  broken  sound. 

Mark  was  greatly  surprised  at  seeing  his  visitor.  Of 
all  men,  Whittaker  1  Nevertheless,  he  was  glad  to  see 
him  ;  if  for  no  other  reason,  because  he  was  somebody — 
a  human  being. 

"  Did  you  coine  from  her  ?  "  he  asked  with  downcast 
eyee. 


THE  HELPER.  349 

«  From  whom  f » 

"  From  my  wife  \ " 

"I  have  not  seen  her,"  said  WLittaker,  somewhat 
coldly.  "  But  if  you  wish  to  send  any  message,  I  will 
take  it." 

Bonamy  motioned  him  to  a  chair,  and  then  sat  silent 
for  a  long  time. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  ought  not  to  have  trespassed  on  you  in 
your  trouble.  But  I  could  not  think  of  any  other  person 
likely  to  come  to  you,  and  it  is  a  dreadful  thing  to  be  alone 
in  trouble." 

"  It  is,"  said  Mark,  gloomily.  Then  after  a  pause,  "  It 
is  curious  you  should  come,  though." 

"Why?" 

"  Well,  my  brother-in-law  and  my  sister  are  ashamed  to 
come.  My  old  friends  all  stay  away.  You  have  no  rea 
son  even  to  like  me.  Certainly  you  wouldn't  take  my 
part  against  Roxy  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not.  I  think  Mrs.  Bonamy  a  good  woman." 
Whittaker  purposely  spoke  in  a  cool  tone  that  he  might 
not  arouse  any  antagonism  in  Mark. 

Mark  sat  still  a  moment,  then  slowly  closed  his  fist  and 
brought  it  down  upon  the  table  like  a  hammer. 

"  God  !  "  he  muttered  between  his  teeth.  "  You  make 
me  mad,  Mr.  Whittaker." 

"You  ought  not  to  be  angry,"  said  Whittaker  with 
fi  rmness.  "  I  think  she  deserves  that  and  more." 

"  But  you  speak  so  coldly.  A  good  woman  1  Oh, 
Lord !  what  a  fool  I  have  been !  A  good  woman !  Why, 
I  tell  you,  here,  Mr.  Whittaker,  that  she  is  a  grand 
woman."  Here  Mark  got  to  his  feet  and  paced  the  floor. 
"  There  are  no  words  for  her.  I  hate  myself.  I  curse 
myself.  I  thought  myself  somebody.  I  was  proud  tf  *uy 


350  ROXT. 

family  and  of  my  popularity,  and  the  devil  only  known 
what  besides.  What  an  infernal  fool  I  was !  I  looked 
down  on  her.  I  did  not  think  she  could  have  any  pride, 
except  in  me  and  what  belonged  to  me.  I  wounded  her 
proud  spirit  every  day.  Proud  ?  Why,  that — Oh,  God  1 
what  shall  I  call  her  ?  I  tell  you  she  went  away  from 
here  to-day  leaving  behind  every  scrap  and  trinket  that 
had  been  bought  with  my  money.  When  she  spurned 
me  she  spurned  everything,  even  the  clothes  she  woro 
as  my  wife,  and  went  out  as  poor  and  proud  as  sho 
came.  And  people  thought  she  was  proud  of  me.  And 
I  stung  her  pride  with  my  devilish  foolishness  and  then, 
when  at  last  she  answered  me  witli  defiance  I  thought  1 
was  injured.  I  felt  sorry  for  myself  and  angry  at  her 
for  being  so  severe,  and  I  rushed  straight  into  the  trap 
the  devil  had  set  for  me.  God !  what  a  fool  I  was  to 
think  myself  better  than  my  poor,  poor  Roxy  !  My  poor, 
poor,  proud,  broken-hearted  Roxy !  Oh,  I  can't  stand  it. 
I'm  going  to  kill  myself  like  Judas  and  get  out  of  the 
way.  It's  all  there  is  left  to  do.  Poor,  poor  girl !  If  I'd 
only  died  a  year  ago  ! "  And  Mark  laid  his  head  on  the 
table  and  burst  into  tears,  sobbing  convulsively,  only 
coining  back  now  and  then  to  the  same  piteous  refrain  : 
Poor  Roxy ! 

Whittaker  caught  sight  of  the  loaded  saddle-pistol  on 
the  table  and  shuddered.  He  had  not  come  too  soon, 
then.  He  left  Mark  to  his  tears  for  a  while.  But,  when 
the  gust  of  weeping  had  spent  itself,  he  took  the  word 
again. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  kill  yourself  for  ? " 
"  What's  the  use  of  living  when  you  despise  yourself; 
and  everybody  despises  you  2     I'm  not  fit  to  live,  and 
know  it,  Mr.  Whittaker." 


THE  HELPER.  351 

"  Very  likely.  Few  men  are  quite  fit  to  live.  But  let 
as  say  that  you  are  very  bad.  You  have  acted  very  badly. 
If  you  did  not  feel  so  much  ashamed  of  yourself,  I  should 
try  to  make  you  ashamed.  But  you  are  only  adding  one 
bad  action  to  another  in  killing  yourself.  It's  not  a  brave 
thing  to  do." 

"  It  may  not  be  right,  but  it  is  the  bravest  thing  left  for 
me,  I  should  say." 

"  Well,  it's  braver  than  some  other  things.  But  when 
you  talk  about  killing  yourself  because  you  despise  your 
self  and  everybody  despises  you,  you  are  only  running 
away  from  the  natural  penalty  of  your  sin.  You  hate 
yourself ;  very  good — you  ought  to  hate  yourself.  But 
you  ought  to  have  courage  to  live  and  face  your  own  con 
tempt,  and  that  of  everybody  else.  That  is  the  brave  way. 
The  sin  having  been  committed,  the  very  best  thing  left 
is  to  take  patiently  the  punishment." 

"  Then  I'm  a  coward.  I  suppose  I'm  about  as  bad  as  a 
man  can  get  to  be." 

"  No,"  said  Whittaker,  speaking  slowly,  as  he  always 
did  when  theoretical  theology  came  into  conflict  with 
practical  wisdom.  "  I  don't  think  you're  all  bad,  by  any 
means.  You're  a  good  deal  better  with  that  pistol  there 
by  you  than  you  have  been  heretofore." 

Bonamy  looked  puzzled. 

"  I  like  you  better  now,  because  you  loathe  your  evil. 
The  time  has  been  when  you  were  just  as  bad  as  now, — 
cap  able  of  this  same  sin, — but  entirely  satisfied  with  your- 
&elf.  Isn't  that  so?" 

Mark  only  shivered. 

"  You  are  no  worse  to-night  than  you  were  a  year  ago. 
But  then  you  were  blind.  Now  you  see.  Thank  God 
that  you  see !  The  sight  is  not  a  cheerful  one,  but  a  man 


352  ROXT. 

who  sees  is  worth  a  dozen  blind  men.  Now  don't  be  s, 
coward,  and  run  away  from  the  work  before  you." 

"  What  work  2  " 

"  What  specific  work,  I  don't  know.  You  built  on 
Band.  The  house  has  gone  to  pieces.  The  first  work  in 
to  clear  away  the  rubbish,  and  get  ready  to  build  on  a 
deeper  foundation.  The  rubbish  heap  is  hateful,  but  ii; 
is  yours.  You've  no  right  to  run  away  and  leave  it,  a 
ghastly  eye-sore  to  everybody  else,  have  you  ? " 

Mark  leaned  his  head  down  again  on  the  table,  and 
groaned.  Then,  after  a  long  time,  he  relieved  himself  by 
confessing  many  things  to  the  minister. 

Whittaker  talked  with  him  thus  till  the  light  of  the  May 
morning  shone  in  at  the  window.  Then  he  rose  up  to 

go- 

"  Will  you  see  Eoxy  ? "  asked   Mark,   with  downcast 

eyes  and  utter  dejection  of  voice. 

"  Sooner  or  later,  yes.  I  will  see  her  to-day,  if  you  have 
anything  for  me  to  say  to  her." 

"  I  don't  want  to  ask  anything  of  her.  She  did  just 
right.  Tell  her  that  I  say  so.  But  I  wish  she  could  only 
know  that  I  had  turned  back  yesterday  with  a  full  pur 
pose  of  telling  her  everything.  It  would  not  have  changed 
anything,  but  I  wanted  to  confess.  It  is  the  hardest  part 
of  this  trouble  that  I  did  not  confess  before.  But  she  is 
so  good  I  did  not  dare  to." 

"  It  was  not  brave  of  you,  Mr.  Bonamy." 

"  I  see.  I  must  make  up  my  mind  that  I  am  a  coward, 
besides  all  the  rest."  It  was  the  one  sensitive  point  of 
pride  left  in  the  humiliated  man.  He  was  nettled  that 
Whittaker  thought  him  cowardly. 

"  Good-bye  !  "     Whittaker  held  out  his  hand. 

"  It  was    very  good  of  you,  Mr.  Whittaker,  to  come 


THE  HELPER.  353 

here  to-night.     I  did  not  deserve  it.     I  had  no  claim  on 

you.'\ 

"  Promise  me  one  thing."  And  Whittaker  held  fast  to 
Mark's  hand.  "  No  suicide." 

"  I  do  not  want  to  make  any  promise,"  said  Mark,  stub 
bornly. 

"  Let  me  tell  you,  Mr.  Bonamy,  that  there  is  a  brave  life 
before  you.  I  think  the  best  of  your  life  is  to  come." 

"  There  could  be  nothing  worse  than  my  life  so  far, 
unless  it  is  to  live  on  with  the  feeling  that  I  had  broken 
the  heart  of  that  poor,  good,  glorious  Eoxy  that  was 
mine." 

Whittaker  drew  him  to  the  porch. 

"  It  was  black  nighfc  an  hour  ago.  If  a  man  had  said 
to  you,  '  There  will  never  be  any  daylight,'  you  would 
have  called  him  a  fool  for  his  unbelief.  I  tell  you,  friend, 
that  already  I  see  the  sunlight  on  the  clouds  over  your 
life.  You  are  down  in  the  dust.  That  is  the  best  of  it. 
The  old  life  must  be  all  destroyed  first.  I  cannot  tell  you 
how,  but  there  is  a  better  life  for  you  yet  to  come.  I  am 
sure  of  it." 

"  But  my  wretched  Roxy  !  " 

"  You  can't  help  what  is  gone.  Roxy  has  suffered,  and 
will  suffer  terribly.  It  is  awful  to  think  of  it.  But  Roxy 
has  a  brave  soul.  She  will  get  good  even  out  of  such 
Borrow.  Now  wait  and  suffer  your  part  like  a  man. 
Don't  run  out  of  the  fight ;  stand  fire  to  the  bitter  end." 

J  ust  at  that  moment,  the  first  beams  of  the  sun  struck 
the  tops  of  the  Kentucky  hills,  and  put  a  halo  about  them. 
A  thin  white  mist  of  lace-like  thinness,  partly  veiled 
the  smooth  surface  of  the  river.  The  whole  landscape 
seemed  to  be  coming  out  of  obscurity  into  glory.  The 
bluebirds  and  the  yellow-hammers  and  the  queevy-quaviea 


854  ROX7. 

began  to  sing  in  the  orchard,  and  the  great  swarms  of 
blackbirds  perching  in  the  sycamores  waked  up  in  a  chorus 
of  "  chip  !  chip  clmlurr-rr-rr-rr !  " 

"  What  a  beautiful  morning !  God  is  good !  "  said 
AVhittaker.  "  Take  heart  a  little.  Promise  for  one  week 
that  you  will  bear  with  your  despair.  No  suicide  for  a 
week ! " 

"  I.  promise,"  said  Mark,  faintly,  looking  wistfully  out 
on  the  river,  changing  from  gold  to  silvery  whiteness. 

"  You'll  lend  me  the  pistol  for  a  week  ? " 

"  You  can't  trust  me,  then  ?  " 

"  If  you  can  trust  yourself." 

Mark  felt  the  rebuke,  and  brought  out  the  great  saddle- 
pistol.  Whittaker  again  shook  hands  and  started  down 
the  walk,  carrying  the  pistol  awkwardly  enough.  Along 
the  street  he  met  sleepy-looking  boys  going  out  for  the 
cows,  and  people  with  baskets  on  their  arms  hurrying  to 
the  little  market-house.  They  all  stared  with  wonder  at 
the  minister  with  a  "  horse-pistol  in  his  hand." 


CHAPTER   L. 

A   WOMAN   THAT   WAS   A   SINNED 

lioxY  was  sleeping  heavily,  after  a  weary  night,  and 
Twonnet  left  her  in  charge  of  the  stepmother  and  Jemima, 
while  she  came  home  to  breakfast.  The  breakfast  at 
Lefaure's  was  eaten  on  all  pleasant  mornings  in  the  open 
vine-covered  porch  overlooking  the  water,  and  here  Mr. 
Whittaker  and  Twonnet  met  after  their  watching.  None 
of  the  family  were  aware  of  Whittaker's  night  walk  to 
Bonamy's.  The  scandal  was  not  a  subject  that  could  be 
conveniently  discussed  at  table,  but  Mrs.  Lefaure  could 
not  forbear  some  lively  expressions  of  her  hatred  of  Mark. 

"  You  forget,"  said  Whittaker,  rather  timidly,  as  was 
his  wont  in  contradiction, "  that  Bonamy  must  suffer  dread 
fully." 

"  He  ought  to.  It  serves  him  right,"  said  Mrs.  Lefaure, 
and  Twonnet's  face  showed  that  she  cordially  agreed  with 
her  mother.  Whittaker  was  silent.  He  saw  that  any 
further  advance  of  a  skirmish  line  in  that  direction  would 
certainly  provoke  a  lively  fire  in  front.  Lefaure,  who  en 
joyed  a  controversy  keenly  when  he  was  not  a  party  to  it, 
tried  in  vain  to  encourage  the  minister  to  make  further 
reply,  but  he  could  not.  Twonnet  thought,  in  her  woman's 
indignation,  that  it  was  a  shame  for  such  a  man  as  Mr. 
Whittaker  to  take  up  for  Bonamy.  She  had  always  pro 
phesied  evil  of  this  marriage.  Now  the  evil  had  come,  she 
felt  justified  in  unlimited  hatred  of  Mark.  In  proper- 


356  ROXY. 

tion,  therefore,  to  her  admiration  for  Whittaker,  was  her 
aversion  to  his  softening,  in  any  way,  Mark's  guilt.  Hang 
ing  was  too  good  for  him,  she  was  sure.  Perhaps,  also, 
there  was  just  a  little  bit  of  pride  in  Twonnet,  a  sense  of 
the  importance  of  her  part  as  next  friend  and  champion  of 
Roxy. 

But  at  this  stage  of  the  conversation,  the  little  red-faced 
Louis,  who  had  been  foraging  in  Mr.  Whittaker's  room  on 
a  general  search  after  information,  came  down  the  staira 
with  large  eyes  and  a  look  more  apoplectic  than  usual, 
and  burst  into  speech  in  a  polyglot  fashion,  thus : 

"  Papa,  il  y  a  dans  la  chambre  de  Monsieur  Yeetaker 
un  fort  grand  horse-pistol  1  " 

"  Que  dis-tu  ? "  said  his  father,  giving  attention  at  the 
same  time  to  the  filling  up  of  a  plate  of  breakfast  for  the 
venerable  grandfather,  whose  ailments  kept  him  in  bed  in 
the  morning.  "  What  do  you  say,  Louis  ? "  he  asked,  in 
a  half-amused  way,  supposing  that  the  little  Paul  Pry 
had  either  misused  words,  or  mistaken  something  else  for 
a  horse-pistol. 

"  I  must  put  that  away,"  said  Whittaker,  rising  and 
excusing  himself.  "  It  is  loaded." 

When  he  returned  to  the  mystified  group  at  the  table, 
he  said  briefly  that  the  pistol  belonged  to  Mark  Bonamy. 

"  IIow  did  you  get  it  2  "  asked  Twonnet. 

"  I  persuaded  him  to  let  me  have  it." 

"  You  have  been  there  then  ?  "  said  Mr.  Lefatire. 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

Twonnet's  indignation  toward  Whittaker  died  out  at 
once,  giving  place  to  a  humbling  sense  of  his  superiority. 
If  there  is  one  thing  a  woman  cannot  stand,  it  is  blood 
shed — unless  it  be  upon  a  large  scale.  Twonuet's  hatred 
of  Mark  changed  to  pity  as  she  imagined  him  despairing 


A   WOMAN  THAT  WAS  A  SINNER.  357 

and  seeking  death,  and  though,  a  moment  ago>  she  waa 
sure  that  he  deserved  capital  punishment,  she  was  horri 
fied  at  thought  of  his  committing  suicide  alone  in  a 
deserted  house.  Of  course  this  sudden  change  was  incon 
sistent,  but  it  is  one  of  the  advantages  of  women,  that, 
not  pretending  to  be  logical,  they  can  change  front  on  the 
instant,  when  they  see  fit.  Twonnet  saw  the  wisdom  of 
Whittaker's  course,  and,  comprehending  the  excellence  of 
the  motives  she  had  mistaken  before,  she  made  Whittaker 
a  hero  by  brevet,  on  the  field,  investing  him,  in  her  imag 
ination,  with  a  complete  outfit  of  all  the  qualities  neces 
sary  to  the  character.  For  she  was  a  woman,  and  hero- 
making  is  a  woman's  work  ;  even  your  sensible  and  prac 
tical  woman  must  take  to  hero-making,  sooner  or  later. 
And  a  man  who  steals  out  at  night,  by  a  sort  of  prescience, 
at  the  very  right  moment  of  moments,  when  the  pistol  is 
all  loaded  and  leveled  at  the  victim's  head,  throws  up  the 
suicidal  arm,  wrests  the  weapon  from  his  grasp,  pacifies  the 
desperate  wretch,  and  then  walks  stealthily  away  with  the 
great  pistol  to  his  own  home, — what  is  he  but  a  hero  of 
heroes?  The  impulsive  Twonnet  had  often  felt — one  of 
her  temperament  could  not  but  feel — the  attraction  of  a 
man  of  such  steadiness  and  reserve  as  Whittaker.  But 
now  forthwith,  she  began  to  build  him  a  shrine  in  her 
heart.  And  this  in  the  face  of  all  the  contradictions  of 
her  practical  good  sense,  which  did  not  fail  to  warn  her 
of  the  danger  of  premature  shrine-building  on  the  part 
of  young  women.  But  Twonnet  remembered  gratefully 
that  he  had  praised  her  the  day  before.  And  it  was  some 
thing  now  to  be  associated  with  him  in  trying  to. bring 
some  good  out  of  this  great  evil. 

"  Are  you  coming  to  see  Roxy  to-day  ? "  she  asked,  aa 
she  prepared  to  return  to  her  charge. 


358  ROXT. 

"  I  hardly  think  so.  I  am  ready  whenever  Mrs.  Bon- 
siiny  wants  me  to  give  her  any  help  ^he  needs.  But  she 
needs  less  help  than  anybody  in  this  wretched  affair." 

"But  what  (tan  \vo  do  for  Iloxy  ?  How  is  all  i\r* 
coming  out  ?  tSlie  will  die  if  she  lies  there  that  way." 

"  I  don't  know  how  things  will  come  out.  •  We  can't 
do  much  for  her.  But  I  hope  that  she  will  not  lie  help- 
>ng.  She  is  the  on«  one  among  them  all,  and 

when  the  shock  is  past  I  have  hope  that  she  will  see, 
better  than  I  can,  what  ought  to  be  done.  When  she  sees 
it,  she  will  do  it." 

*  P.ut  what  ought  she  to  do? " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  haven't  a  notion.  I  am  just  learn 
ing  that  general  principles  don't  apply  in  a  case  like  this. 
What  a  thing  it  id  to  learn  that  difficult  cases  have  a  law 
of  tliei'*  own!  If  anybody  can  find  out  what  is  right, 
Iloxy  will.  There  must  be  a  right  even  in  such  a  wretched 
Btate  of  things." 

"  I  don't  see  what  she  can  do." 

"  Neither  do  I.  But  if  she  can't  do  anything,  then 
nothing  can  be  done,  I  suppose.  We  must  look  to  the 
strong,  and  not  to  the  weak,  for  deliverance." 

"  But  she  isn't  to  blame,  and  it  seems  hardly  fair  that 
the  burden  should  rest  on  her." 

"  That  is  the  very  reason,  I  suppose.  Only  the  good 
can  save  the  bad.  But  here,  I  am  trying  to  apply  gene 
ral  principles.  Let's  wait  till  Roxy  shows  the  way.  She 
has  made  great  mistakes  of  judgment,  but  in  matters  of 
right  and  wrong,  she  has  a  wonderful  intuition.  After  she 
got  free  from  the  false  shackles  of  other  people's  rules, 
her  treatment  of  Mark  was  just  right.  She  won  him  so 
completely  that,  now  she  has  deserted  him,  he  is  full  of 
praises  of  her.  And  if  the  gossips  had  only  stayed  away 


A    WOMAN  1UAT  WAS  A  SI1WEB.  359 

two  hours,  she  would  have  heard  the  whole  thing  from 
him.  He  was  coining  home  to  tell  her." 

Something  in  this  high  praise  of  Roxy  wounded  Twon- 
net  just  a  little.  Her  position  as  faithful  next  friend  did 
not  seem  so  important  as  she  had  hoped.  Wliittaker 
had  given  her  no  word  of  praise.  "  It's  all  Roxy,  Boxy," 
she  murmured  to  herself  as  she  went  toward  Adams's 
house.  For  what  is  the  use  of  setting  up  a  private  hero 
and  building  a  shrine,  if,  after  all,  your  hero  will  give  you 
no  look  of  recognition  for  your  pains  3 

Conscience  is  a  task-master  with  a  strange  logic.  Per 
form  at  its  bidding  one  hard  thing  and  it  does  not  reason 
from  your  performance  to  reward  or  repose.  Its  ergo  is 
turned  the  other  way.  Thou  hast  done  well,  ergo  thou 
shalt  do  better.  Up  !  get  thee  out  again,  till  I  find  the 
limit  of  thy  strength.  Blessed  is  he  who  accepts  the 
challenge.  Whittaker's  theory  that  a  physician  ought  to 
go  to  the  sick  and  not  to  the  well  is  one  not  very  much  in 
vogue  among  parsons  and  churches  nowadays :  witness 
the  rank  growth  of  steeples  in  the  well-to-do  quarters  of 
cities — mortgaged  and  bankrupted  steeples,  too  many  of 
them.  But  then  the  rich  man  enters  not  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  easily — let  us  not  grudge .  him  his  lion's  share  of 
the  missionary  labor  of  the  world,  and  let  us  not  blame 
those  zealous  and  self-denying  men  who  hear  the  voice  of 
the  Lord  forever  assuring  them  that  they  are  commis 
sioned  to  the  church  of  St.  Dives  in  the  West.  It  is  only 
commonplace  and  old-fashioned  men  like  Wliittaker  who 
must  be  trying  to  reach  the  publicans  and  sinners  of  the 
nineteenth  centuiy,  and  who  have  idiotic  notions  that  the 
lost  sheep  and  the  prodigal  son  have  applications  to  our 
time. 

But  Whit  taker  was  just  foolish  enough  to  set  out  on 


300  ROXT. 

this  morning  to  find  Nancy  Kirtley,  and  t^  see  what  could 
be  done  for  her.  First  finding  Haz  on  his  dray,  he 
entered  into  conversation  with  him,  asking  him  where  his 
sister  was  to  be  found.  This  catechism  of  Cain  was  evi 
dently  very  troublesome  to  Kirtley,  who  would  have  felt 
Borne  brotherly  interest  in  his  sister  had  it  not  been  that 
Mis.  Haz  felt  otherwise.  But  there  cannot  be  more  than 
one  head  to  a  family.  Haz  had  to  feel  that  Nancy  was  a 
great  disgrace,  fit  only  to  be  put  out-of-doors,  because 
his  wife  had  settled  that  matter.  When  Simon  says  wig 
wag  who  shall  refuse  to  obey  ?  He  answered  very  briefly 
that  Nancy  had  left  the  house  in  the  night  and  had  not 
come  back.  To  avoid  further  questions  he  drove  off. 

Then  Whittaker  went  to  Mr.  Highbury,  the  elder. 
Did  he  go  in  a  sort  of  desperate  sarcasm  to  Highbury  for 
help  ?  Or,  did  he  desire  to  teach  the  elder  a  lesson  ?  Did 
he  think  that  after  all  the  Pharisee  is  quite  as  much  a  lost 
sheep  as  the  publican  or  the  harlot?  And  in  seeking  to 
set  the  Pharisee  to  find  the  lost  was  he  seeking  also  to  get 
the  Pharisee  to  find  himself,  lost  in  the  dreary  wilderness 
of  his  self-conceit  ?  At  any  rate  he  took  Highbury  into 
the  back  part  of  the  store  and  told  him  that  he  had  seen 
Mark  the  ni^ht  before,  and  related  to  him  something  of 

O  '  £- 

the  circumstances.  Mr.  Highbury  thought  it  quite  proper 
indeed,  that  a  minister  should  try  to  reclaim  Bonamy. 
For  Bonamy  was  a  man  and  not  a  woman,  which  makes 
a  great  difference.  And  he  was  a  man  of  respectable 
family,  and  consequently  an  appropriate  subject  for  labor. 
Besides,  it  was  stealing  a  march  on  the  Methodists,  who 
would  see  that  they  were  neglecting  their  own  flock,  and 
so  on.  But  he  cautioned  Whittaker  not  to  see  Mrs. 
Bonamy.  It  might  make  talk. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  see  Mrs.  Bonamy  unless  I'm  spe- 


A    WOMAN  THAT   WAS  A  SINNER.  361 

ciallv  sent  for,"  said  the  minister.  "  But  I  want  you  to  go 
with  me  to  see  Nancy  Kirtley.  It  is  not  quite  prudent  for 
me  to  go  alone,  perhaps." 

Highbury  was  silent.  His  countenance  expressed  in  a 
splintered  and  fragmentary  way  half  a  dozen  different 
emotions.  That  Whittaker  should,  under  any  circum 
stances,  propose  to  see  a  girl  of  her  low  social  position 
was  a  rurprise  to  him.  Such  people  might  be  saved  per 
haps,  but  it  was  not  likely  ;  and  if  they  were  saved  it  would 
no  doubt  be  by  such  agencies  as  illiterate  circuit-riders, 
and  not  by  college-bred  men.  That  Whittaker  should  con 
verse  with  a  dishonored  woman  was  as  much  a  matter  of 
disgust  to  Highbury,  the  elder,  as  similar  conduct  had 
been  to  Simon,  the  Pharisee.  That  he  should  go  now  to 
see  her  while  all  the  town  was  ablaze  with  the  scandal, 
and,  worst  of  all,  that  he  should  venture  to  ask  him,  High 
bury,  merchant,  elder,  well-to-do,  and  one  of  God's  elect, 
besides,  to  go  with  him,  was  beyond  all  comprehension. 
Nevertheless,  he  looked  round  anxiously  for  some  logical 
ground  on  which  to  base  his  refusal.  He  knew  that 
Whittaker  was  a  man  singularly  insensible  to  the  logic  of 
worldly  prudence  in  such  matters. 

"  I  don't  think  it  would  do  any  good  for  us  to  see  such 
a  woman,"  he  said,  hesitating  and  reddening. 

'  O  C5 

"  Why,  you  know  how  tender  and  forgiving  Christ  was 
to  such  people,"  answered  Whittaker. 

Did  ever  anybody  hear  such  preposterous  reasoning? 
Is  Christ  to  be  quoted  as  an  example  to  a  respectable 
church  member  nowadays  ?  Christ  lived  two  thousand 
years  ago,  or  thereabouts,  as  everybody  knows,  and  the 
women  that  were  "  sinners  in  the  town  "  in  his  day  were 
— well,  they  were  Jews,  don't  you  know?  Something 
quite  different  from  wicked  people  in  our  time.  High- 
16 


362 

bury  fe.t  all  this  rather  than  thought  it.     And  what  ho 
said  was  something  else. 

O 

"1  tel!  yon  what,  Mr.  Whittaker,  there's  great  danger  of 
fanaticism  in  talking  that  way.  We've  got  to  be  careful 
to  keep  from  bringing  dishonor  on  the  cause  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ." 

"Why,  Mr.  Highbury,  that's  just  what  Christ  did  all 
the  time.  He  spent  his  time  in  bringing  his  own  cause 
into  disrepute  whenever  he  could  do  any  good  by  it." 

"  You  talk  very  well,  Mr.  Whittaker.  But  you're  not 
practical.  It's  the  great  failing  of  ministers  that  they're 
apt  to  be  unpractical.  Now,  this  is  a  practical  age  and 
I'm  a  practical  man  ;  I  know  what  people  say  about  min 
isters  and  such  things.  And  I  know  it's  no  use  for  you 
to  go  to  see  a  bad  woman." 

Here  Highbury  caught  sight  of  a  customer  waiting  for 
him  and  he  hurried  out  to  the  front  part  of  the  store, 
where  he  was  soon  engaged  in  tearing  off  "  bit  calico  " 
and  selling  coffee  and  nails  and  clocks  and  ribbons  and 
vinegar  and  boots  and  clothes-lines  and  candy.  As  fo** 
Whittaker,  he  turned  away  and  went  to  seek  the  lost  alone. 

He  found  Nancy  at  last,  sitting  under  the  bank  on  a 
log,  gazing  in  dogged  sullenness  at  the  water.  She  had 
had  no  breakfast,  and  she  did  not  know  or  care  where  she 
should  find  shelter.  If  only  she  could  find  some  way  of 
gratifying  a  resentment  that  was  hardening  into  a  despe 
rate  and  malicious  and  universal  animosity. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  she  growled,  as  he  approached. 

"I  want  to  do  anything  I  can  for  you.  You'1!  get 
sick  sitting  here  with  no  breakfast.  There's  rain  corning 
on  now." 

u  That's  none  of  your  business." 

"  Why  don't  you  g  >  back  to  Haz's  ? " 


4    WOMAN  THAT  WAS  A  SINGER.  363 

"Because  his  wife's  the  very  devil.  Everybody's  as 
bad  as  bad  can  be.  Roxy  Bonamy  stole  my  bean.  Every 
body  fooled  weth  me.  Now  everybody  hates  me,  an3 
Mark,  he  wont  give  me  no  satisfaction,  an'  Lathers,  he 
tried  to  make  a  fool  out  of  me.  Rocky  Fork  folks  laugha 
at  me  an'  town-folks  wont  come  a-nigh  me.  Dog-on  'em 
all,  I  bay !  I'm  agoin'  to  git  squar'  someways.  I'll  kill 
some  on  'em.  See  ef  I  don't.  They  don't  nobody  keer 
fer  me,  an'  I  don'  keer  fer  nobody." 

Whittaker  could  not  persuade  her  to  go  back  to  Haz's  at 
first.  After  a  while  he  went  himself  to  mollify  Haz'a 
wife.  The  woman  was  loud-tongued  and  not  very  deli 
cate  in  her  scolding  about  Nance.  But  she  had  great 
respect  for  a  man  that  wore  good  clothes,  and  she  had  a 
certain  awe  of  a  minister.  By  dint  of  agreeing  with  her 
as  far  as  he  could,  and  sympathizing  with  her  in  all  her 
troubles  and  her  disgrace,  he  persuaded  her  to  consent  for 
Nance  to  come  back  on  condition,  as  Mrs.  Kirtley  stated 
it,  that  she  should  "  hold  her  everlastin'  jaw." 

Then  Whittaker  returned  to  Nancy.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
softening  effect  of  his  kindness,  or  the  change  of  mood 
produced  by  being  obliged  to  talk,  or  the  sense  of  utter 
desertion  when  Whittaker  had  walked  away  without  ex 
plaining  where  he  was  going — some  or  all  of  these  had  so 
moved  her  that  when  he  came  back  she  was  crying  in 
hearty  fashion.  It  was  a  selfish  cry,  no  doubt,  but  there 
was  at  least  some  touch  of  half-human  feeling  in  the  self- 
pitying  tears. 

"  Poor  woman !  "  said  Whittaker.  "  God  help  you  I 
You  have  got  a  hard  time." 

"Haint  I,  though?"  and  she  wept  again.  She  had 
uome  to  a  point  where  pity  was  grateful  to  her. 

He  told  her  of  the  compact  he  had  made  on  her  behalf 


364  ROXY. 


with  Mrs.  Kirtley  that  Nancy  should  go  back  and  not 
quarrel.  But  to  all  his  persuasions  she  returned  a  nega 
tive  shake  of  the  head,  while  she  kept  on  crying.  Tim 
sense  of  her  shame  had  at  last  entered  her  soul.  She  fek 
the  loathing  with  which  all  the  world  regarded  her.  Thin 
might  result  in  some  good,  Whittaker  thought.  But  the 
chances  were  that  it  would  result  in  desperation  and 
fiendislmess  unless  she  could  be  brought  to  have  a  little 
hope. 

The  old-fashioned  way  that  he  had  of  thinking  about 
Jesus  Christ  as  though  his  life  and  acts  were  an  example 
for  himself,  brought  about  a  curious  train  of  reasoning. 

/  O  C 

The  girl  felt  herself  an  outlaw.  She  could  only  be  helped 
as  Jesus  had  healed  the  outcast.  He  remembered  how 
the  Christ  had  broken  the  law  by  touching  a  leper.  Some 
one  must  show  a  friendly  cordiality  to  this  woman  who 
was  a  sinner,  like  the  one  that  wept  on  the  feet  of  the 
Master.  He  shrunk  from  the  guilty  girl  in  spite  of  him 
self.  She  felt  it.  He  must  conquer  first  the  Pharisee  in 
himself.  After  much  hesitation  and  shrinking  he  ap 
proached  her  and  laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm.  It  pro 
duced  a  sudden  revulsion. 

u  Come,  you  must  go  with  me,"  he  said. 

She  got  up  and  went  with  him  as  she  would  have  gone 
at  that  moment  with  any  one  good  or  evil  who  offered  her 
a  return  to  human  fellowship.  Luckily  for  Whittaker'a 
courage,  Haz's  house  was  not  far  away  and  Slabtown  was 
almost  deserted  except  at  steamboat  time.  He  led  her  in 
as  tenderly  as  he  could  if  she  had  been  a  little  child. 
She  immediately  crouched  weeping  in  the  chimney  cor 
ner,  and  Whittaker  sat  down  on  a  stool  by  the  heartli. 
lie  talked  with  the  virago  sister-in-law  until  she  became 
cheerful  and  offered  Nancy  some  food.  Then  he  shook 


A    WOUfAN  THAT   WAS  A  SINNER.  365 

hands  with  both  of  them  and  departed,  the  wife  of  Haz 
standing  in  the  door  and  saying  as  he  disappeared : 

"  Well !  Ef  that  air  haint  a  man  now,  they  haint  none 
Lord,  what  a  man  he  is  now,  ef  he  is  a  down-east  Yankee  1 
Haint  he,  Nance  3  " 

But  the  girl  only  kept  on  crying  and  said  nothing. 

"  You — you  haint  got  a  good  word  f er  nobody,"  broke 
out  Mrs.  Kirtley. 

But  Nancy,  weeping  still,  made  no  reply.  A  shower 
of  rain  was  coming  on  out-of-doors,  and  the  storm  of  Mrs. 
Kirtley 's  indignation  continued  to  beat  within. 


CHAPTEE  LI 

0 

SALVATION  BY  HOOK  AND  BY  CROOK. 

"  FATHER  MILEY,"  the  old  Methodist  minister,  "super 
annuated  "  and  living  in  the  town,  visited  Roxy  every 
day.  There  was  nothing  to  offer  but  commonplace  con 
solations  and  exhortations,  but  the  old  man's  gentle  words 
of  sympathy  and  his  pathetic  prayers  did  her  good  while 
he  was  with  her.  Twonnet  thought  that  Whittaker 
strained  his  delicacy  too  far  in  keeping  away  so  long. 
She  told  Roxy  something  of  Whittaker's  visit  to  Mark. 
And  Roxy  set  herself  to  wondering  also  why  Mr.  Whit- 
taker  had  not  come.  But  besides  his  fear  of  reproach  if 
he  should  hasten  his  visit,  he  was  afraid  of  saying  pre 
maturely  what  he  had  to  say.  lie  sent  her  some  word  of 
friendly  sympathy  by  Twonnet  each  day.  But  it  was 
quite  possible  to  one  of  his  cool  and  reserved  tempera 
ment  to  wait  till  his  counsel  should  be  needed. 

Roxy  had  the  hardest  time  of  all,  in  that  she  had  nothing 
to  do.  Bonamy,  in  all  his  distress,  busied  himself  in  set 
tling  his  business.  There  was  one  purpose  clearly  fixed 
in  his  mind.  He  meant  to  leave  Luzerne.  Whether  to 
go  by  steamboat  or  by  suicide  he  had  not  decided,  but  he 
was  resolved  to  flee  from  surroundings  that  were  hateful 
to  him.  The  embarrassment  lay  in  arranging  his  aft'airs 
BO  as  to  provide  for  the  wife  who  would  accept  no  pro 
vision,  and  to  settle  also  in  an  honorable  way  his  obliga 
tions  to  the  unreasonable  and  vindictive  Nancy. 


SALVATION  BY  HOOK  AND  B7   CROOK.         367 

Nancy's  father,  moved  by  some  reviving  parental  affec 
tion, — possibly  also  by  some  prospect  of  getting  something 
from  Mark, — took  her  back  to  Rocky  Fork,  where  at  least 
she  was  free  from  the  taunts  of  Haz  Kirtley's  wife,  and 
where  she  could  shut  herself  in  from  the  sight  of  her  de 
riding  acquaintances.  McGowan,  too,  became  a  little 
more  peaceable  now  that  l^ancy  was  at  home.  lie  post 
poned  his  revenge,  but  did  not  give  it  up. 

All  the  day  following  that  of  Roxy's  desertion  of  Mark's 
house,  she  tried  in  vain  to  interest  herself  in  some  occu 
pation.  She  went  down  to  the  sitting-room  with  its  long 
clock  and  its  bright  rag-carpet,  its  homely  old-fashioned 
pictures  and  the  window  where  the  honeysuckles  grew. 
She  tried  as  of  old  to  arrange  things,  but  she  sank  at  once 
into  listlessness  and  fell  to  looking  out  of  the  window  at 
the  hills  and  the  sky.  Then  she  asked  Jemima  for  some 
sewing.  But  she  did  not  take  ten  stitches.  Her  hands 
lay  idle  in  her  lap  and  she  sat  for  half  an  hour  at  a  time 
without  making  any  motion,  except  to  sigh  heavily.  One 
cannot  take  up  an  old  life  where  it  was  left  off.  Roxy 
was  not  the  same  Roxy.  The  whole  memory  of  what  had 
intervened  and  the  change  in  her  very  nature  wrought  by 
it  rendered  the  old  life  impossible.  She  could  never  \ 
more  be  a  young  Sain-t  Theresa, 'romantically  longing  for 
martyrdom ;  she  was  a  full-grown  woman  with  large  and  ; 
sorrowful  experience.  The  girl  may  be  developed  into 
the  woman — the  woman  cannot  be  repressed  into  the  girl 
again.  It  is  the  inevitable  law  of  all  progression  in  char- 
actei  and  experience.  The  sun  will  never  return  a  single 
degree  on  the  dial  of  Ahaz,  for  all  our  praying  and  turning 
of  our  faces  to  the  wall.  In  this  motionless  despondency 
passed  the  two  days  following  Roxy's  return  to  her  father's 
house.  Friends  enough  came  to  see  her.  Most  of  them 


36*  ROXT. 

volunteered  approval  of  her  course  in  leaving  her  hus 
band,  and  this  approval  for  some  reason  always  hurt  her 
Some  of  them  angered  her  byad^sing  a  divorce,  even 
assuring  her  that  she  should  insist  on  her  share  of  the 
property.  And  some  who  were  theologically  inclined, 
told  her  on  the  authority  of  certain  preachers  and  com 
mentators  that  if  she  had  remained  with  her  husband  she 
vould  have  committed  a  crime  herself.  From  her  aver 
sion  to  this  sort  of  consolation  it  came  that  her  hours  with 
her  friends  were  even  more  intolerable  than  the  time  of 
loneliness  and  listless  inactivity.  She  wished,  like  the 
much  be-comforted  man  in  the  land  of  Uz,  for  a  surcease 
of  sympathy. 

On  the  third  day,  which  was  Saturday,  she  became 
restless.  She  told  her  father  that  she  ought  to  do  some 
thing.  The  old  eagerness  for  a  definite  purpose  large 
enough  to  tax  her  energies  awakened. 

Adams  grew  uneasy  as  he  saw  this  restlessness,  and 
went  on  his  own  account  to  ask  Whittaker  to  come  and 
advise  her. 

"  I  thought  you  would  have  come  before,"  said  Koxy, 
when  she  &aw  him. 

"Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  come,  but  I  thought  however 
much  you  might  suffer,  you  needed  the  services  of  a  min 
ister  least  of  all.  I  went  especially  to  the  weak  and  the 
guilty.  I  waited  until  you  wanted  me.  I  thought  y  m 
would  rouse  yourself  after  awhile,  and  then  maybe  I 
could  do  some  good  in  coining." 

"  Mr.  Whittaker,  I  want  to  do  something.  I  shaU  go 
mad,  if  I  sit  here  long  and  think." 

"  Of  course  you  must  do  something.  That  is  natural  tc 
you,  and  it's  good  that  you've  come  to  tnat  so  scon.  It  ia 
a  healthy  sign/' 


SALVATION  BY  HOOK  AND  BY   CROOK         369 

"What  can  I  do?  I  cannot  interest  myself  in  any 
thing." 

"You  must  work  for  somebody  else.  That  is  your 
remedy." 

"  But  I  don't  know  anybody  that  is  in  trouble.  Do 
you  ? " 

Whittaker  was  silent  for  a  long  time.  Then  he  said, 
deliberately : 

"  I  only  fcnow  two  people  besides  yourself  in  great 
trouble.  You  know  them." 

Roxy  colored,  and  shuddered  a  little.  She  tried  to 
understand  what  this  word  might  signify.  It  was  only 
after  some  effort  that  she  could  speak. 

" You  know  I  can't  help  them" 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can,  myself.  I  half  hoped  that 
you  could  see  some  way.  But  if  you  don't  see  any,  I 
suppose  there  is  none." 

Roxy  was  about  to  resent  the  intimation  that  she  ought 
to  do  anything  for  Mark  or  Nancy  ;  but  something  in 
Whittaker's  words  impressed  her.  The  habit  of  conscien 
tious  and  self-denying  action  made  her  mind  receptive  fx3 
any  suggestion  of  difficult  duty,  and  there  was  comfort  in 
Whittaker's  deferential  confidence  in  her. 

"  Do  you  think  I  did  wrong,  then,  to  come  away  ?  I 
couldn't  stay?' 

"  You  did  just  what  I  should  expect  of  you.  I  couldn't 
say  more.  Twonnet  told  you,  I  suppose,  that  Mark  rode 
hard  that  day  to  get  home  and  tell  you  himself.  He  was 
too  late,  and  he  deserved  all  he  has  suffered.  He  knows 
that,  and  respects — even  admires — your  course." 

"  But  you  don't  think  I  ought  to  go  back." 

"  1  don't  think  your  husband  has  the  slightest  claim  on 
you.  I  only  say  that  I  do  not  see  anything  but  evil  in 
16* 


370  KOXY. 

this  business,  unless  you  see  some  way  to  turn  it  to 
good." 

"  But  why  am  /  bound  to  do  anything  ?  I  haven't  done 
the  evil." 

u  Only  because  you  are  the  innocent  one,  and  the  strong 
one.  But  I  don't  want  you  to  think  that  I  say  you  are 
bound  to  do  anything.  I  don't  think  you  are.  I  am  not 
sure  you  can  do  anything.  I  cannot  see  at  all  further 
than  I  have  said.  I'm  sure  you'll  do  whatever  you  find 
to  do,  and  you  have  done  all  one  could  demand.  If  there 
is  anything  else  you  can  do,  it  is  a  matter  of  privilege,  ra 
ther  than  of  duty.  The  highest  actions  are  of  that  kind." 

"  I'm  afraid  you've  added  to  my  trouble,"  she  said,  as 
Whittaker  rose  to  go.  "  But  it  is  very  good  of  you  to 
have  so  much  confidence  in  me,  though  it  is  of  no  use.  I 
shall  never  go  back  to  Mark,  and  I  don't  see  what  I  can 
do  for  him." 

"  I  do  not  think  of  any  advice  I  can  give.  Do  not  feel 
any  ought  about  anything.  Be  as  quiet  as  you  can  over 
Sunday.  Then,  if  you  feel  that  you  might  be  helped  by 
any  advice  of  mine  on  Monday,  I  will  come  again.  But 
do  not  trust  my  judgment;  do  not  let  anybody  dictate. 
Follow  the  impulse  of  your  own  sense  of  what  you  can 
and  ought  to  do.  That  is  the  only  guide  in  a  case  like 
this."  Then,  suddenly  dropping  for  an  instant  his  reserve, 
he  took  her  offered  hand,  and  said,  with  much  feeling : 
"  And  God  help  you,  my  poor,  dear,  good  friend,  and  give 
you  peace." 

It  was  the  first  word  of  sympathy  Hoxy  had  received 
lhat  touched  the  great  deep  of  sorrow  in  her  heart.  The 
unexpectedness  of  the  tone,  from  one  so  quiet  an'l  shy  as 
Whittaker,  the  instantaneous  revelation  of  intense  sympa 
thy,  produced  a  quick  reaction  in  her  mood ;  and  when 


(SALVATION  BY  HOOK  AND  BY  CROOK.         371 

he  was  gone,  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  wept 
tears  that  were  medicine  to  her  spirit. 

With  the  tears  came  also,  by  degrees,  the  clearer  vision 
that  Whittaker  looked  for.  The  source  of  his  wise 
prescience  of  the  action  of  Roxy's  moral  nature  is  not  far 
tc  seek.  A  man  of  high  conscience  is  able  to  forecast 
something  of  the  movements  of  one  whose  moral  orbit  is 
nearly  in  the  same  plane.  For  himself,  this  whole  affair 
had  come  so  close  to  him,  that  it  produced  a  powerful 
awakening.  The  half -finished  sermon  on  the  subject  of 
"  Salvation  by  Faith  Only,"  on  which  he  had  been  writing, 
seemed  to  him  uninteresting.  The  metaphysics  of  salva 
tion  are  not  of  so  much  consequence,  when  one  is  engaged 
in  the  practice  of  actually  saving  men.  lie  felt  rising  in 
him  the  rebellion  of  the  practical  man  against  the  theo 
retical,  and,  had  he  given  expression  to  his  real  feelings, 
he  would  have  discoursed  perhaps  on  "  Salvation  by  Hook 
or  by  Crook,"  so  important  did  it  seem  to  him  to  save  men 
by  any  rope  or  pole  that  would  reach  them,  rather  than  to 
stand  philosophizing  about  it,  after  the  manner  of  a  lie- 
former  or  a  Church  Father  of  seventy-four  guns.  He 
could  not  preach  the  sermon  ;  it  was  like  pine  shavings  in 
his  mouth.  It  was  now  too  late  to  write  another.  He 
went  into  the  pulpit  on  Sunday  morning,  and  read  the 
story  of  the  woman  that  wept  on  the  feet  of  Jesus  in  the 
house  of  Simon  the  Respectable,  and  then  he  read  the 
parable  of  the  two  debtors,  spoken  to  this  Deacon  Simon 
Pharisee.  It  was  not  a  sermon  but  something  better, — 
living  words  out  of  the  living  heart  of  a  man.  He  tried 
not  to  be  personal,  but  Highbury  made  up  his  mind  that 
this  kind  of  talking  was  not  suitable  to  a  decorous  church, 
and  that  he  must  see  that  Whittaker's  relation  with  the 
church  In  Luzerne  should  be  dissolved.  A  man  who,  in- 


372  EOXT. 

stead  of  denouncing  the  Pharisees, — those  people  that 
hated  and  killed  Christ, — should  venture  to  intimate  that 
there  were  Pharisees  nowadays  even  in  churches  of  his 
own  denomination,  was  not  to  he  endured.  There  is  no 
safe  ground  for  a  good  sound  preacher,  but  to  attack 
ancient  wickedness  and  the  sins  and  superstitions  of 
foreign  countries.  If  he  must  come  closer  home,  there 
are  denominations  rival  to  his  own,  that  need  scathing. 
But  somehow  the  people  in  Whittaker's  little  congregation 
were  very  much  moved  by  this  sermon,  and  from  that 
time  the  church  began  to  fill  up,  and  who  does  not  know 
that  full  pews  hide  heresies  ? 

But  that  Sunday  was  no  day  of  rest  for  Roxy.  When 
Whittaker  had  suggested  that  Roxy  might  do  something 
to  help  the  guilty  ones,  it  was  only  with  a  vague  notion 
that  any  act  of  forgiveness  would  do  good.  lie  was  sin 
cere  when  he  said  that  he  could  not  see  what  she  could  do. 
It  was  only  his  blind  faith  in  the  power  of  Roxy's  enthusi 
asm  and  high  moral  aspiration  that  had  awakened  this 
indefinite  hope.  And  all  this  Sunday  long,  the  old  martyr 
spirit  of  Roxy's  girlhood  had  been  coming  back.  It  was 
not  Texas,  now.  Why  should  she,  who  had  always  sighed 
to  dare  great  things  and  to  make  great  sacrifices, — why 
should  she  not  now  put  down  her  just  pride  and  anger, 
and,  by  the  sacrifice,  save  those  who  had  crucified  her  ? 
'Every  great  possibility  is  a  challenge  to  an  ambitious 
spirit.  She  had  wanted  an  extraordinary  field,  and  had 
dreamed  romantic  dreams  of  suffering  for  Christ.  And 
now  Texas  had  come  to  her  very  door ! 

All  that  Sunday  forenoon  Twonnet  did  not  come.  Roxy 
must  talk  to  somebody.  She  told  her  step-mother  first 
that  she  was  thinking  whether  she  ought  not  go  back  to 
Mark  and  help  him  to  do  better.  Mrs.  Adams  was  sur- 


SALVATION  BY  HOOK  AND  BY  CROOK.         373 

prised,  but  she  only  answered  "  Very  likely,"  which 
meaningless  response  irritated  Roxy.  Jemima  thought 
for  her  part  that  men  were  not  to  be  trusted  anyways. 
There  was  Judas  Iscariot  and  Benedict  Arnold  and  George 
the  Third,  to  say  nothing  of  John  Tyler,  at  that  very  time 
H  "  renegade  president."  And  Roxy's  father  denounced 
bitterly  a  plan  that  he  had  dreaded  from  the  beginning 
Elder  Highbury,  to  make  some  atonement  for  having  re 
fused  to  see  Nancy  Kirtley,  condescended  to  call  on  Rox;y 
Bonamy  this  Sunday  afternoon,  the  store  being  closed  and 
there  being  nothing  else  to  do.  He  assured  her  that  she 
had  done  right  in  leaving,  and  he  hoped  she  would  never 
go  back,  because  it  was  the  opinion  of  many  good  preach 
ers  whom  he  cited  that  to  return  to  a  faithless  husband  or 
wife  was  a  great  sin.  The  Methodist  class-leader  express 
ed  similar  views.  These  opinions  from  those  who  did  not 
know  that  she  was  meditating  such  a  step  staggered  and 
confounded  the  scrupulous  Roxy. 

But  Mrs.  Hanks  put  the  finishing  blow  to  her  plan.  For 
fhe  came  also,  as  in  duty  bound,  and  she  told  Roxy  confi 
dentially  that  she  thought  it  very  wise  not  to  begin  suit  for 
a  divorce.  Roxy  could  get  her  share  of  the  property. 
But  it  was  better  to  be  forgiving.  Mark  was  a  good  sort 
of  a  fellow,  anyhow.  A  great  many  women  had  to  forgive 
such  things.  A  body  had  to  put  up  with  something. 
Mark  was  well  off  and  very  smart,  and  if  Roxy  should  go 
back,  why,  all  the  property  would  be  hers,  and  besides,  you 
know,  grass  widows  are  not  much  thought  of. 

This  logic  of  laxity  and  pity  of  the  devil  made  Roxy 
hate  her  half -formed  purpose  to  return.  It  would  seem  to 
such  people  as  her  aunt  to  be  a  purely  selfish  one. 
And  Mrs.  Hanks  had  made  it  seem  so  bad  to  Roxy  that 
she  surrendered  the  thought  of  returning  to  her  husband 


374  Roxr. 

She  had  tried  the  cage  of  circi  instance,  and  the  bars 
wounded  her  but  would  not  yield  to  all  her  beating.  She 
sank  back  again  into  listless  despair.  She  did  not  talk, 
she  only  sighed 

When  darkness  came,  the  father  went  out  to  take  the 
air,  and  the  step-mother  went  to  meeting.  There  were  no 
longer  any  visitors  in  the  house,  and  Roxy  sat  in  the  old 
sitting-room  with  her  hands  crossed  in  her  lap  in  a  hope 
lessness  that  had  no  ray  of  light  in  it.  The  room  was 
the  same  as  in  the  years  before,  but  she  who  had  dreamed 
there  of  high  achievement  was  now  a  broken-hearted 
prisoner  of  evil  circumstance.  It  seemed  to  her  that  the 
old  clock  would  kill  her.  It  was  so  long  in  swinging  from 
one  tick  to  another.  What  eternities  seconds  come  to  be 
when  one  sits  with  hands  crossed,  the  despairing  palms 
upward, — sits  thus  and  sighs  with  no  hope  in  life  but  to  sit 
thus  and  sigh !  The  "  forever — never"  of  the  clock  was  to 
Roxy  a  forever  of  perdition  and  a  never  of  hope.  Jemima 
fell  into  a  slumber,  while  Roxy  continued  to  watch  the 
slow-beating  and  awful  clock. 

Since  there  was  no  hope  of  any  great  change  in  Roxy's 
life,  she  looked  eagerly  for  small  and  unimportant  inter 
ruptions  of  her  sorrow.  She  wished  that  her  father  would 
come  back,  or  that  Mrs.  Rachel  would  return  from  church. 
In  thus  wishing  she  slowly  turned  her  head  toward  the 
front  window.  It  was  the  very  honeysuckle-covered  win 
dow  into  which  her  lover  had  looked  on  that  day  that  he 
brought  her  the  delusive  good  news. 

She  turned  her  eyes  in  a  purposeless  way  to  this  win 
dow.  She  quickly  pressed  her  hands  across  her  heart  and 
gasped  for  breath.  There,  framed  in  the  darkness  of  the 
clouded  night,  was  the  face  of  Mark. 

It  was  close  against  the  window  pane,  the  eager  eyes 


SALVATION  BY  HOOK  AND  BY  CROOK.         375 

were  fastened  on  her.  In  an  instant  more  the  face  had 
disappeared. 

Roxy  screamed  and  fell  fainting  on  the  floor.  Jemima 
ran  to  her  assistance.  And  when  later  Roxy  explained  to 
(he  family  that  she  had  seen  Mark's  face  at  the  window, 
they  were  sure  that  it  was  an  illusion  of  her  fancy.  For 
besides  the  improbability  of  it,  Jemima  was  facing  the 
window  all  the  time  and  had  seen  nothing  at  all. 

But  in  that  one  view  of  the  face,  Roxy  read  all  the  tor 
ture  that  Mark  had  endured.  Contrasted  as  it  was  in  her 
mind  with  the  old  memory  of  the  happy  and  hopeful 
Mark  of  the  missionary  days,  looking  into  that  very  win 
dow,  it  was  a  vivid  picture  of  hopeless  wretchedness.  All 
the  mighty  pity  of  her  nature  was  roused.  There  must  be 
something!  she  could  do  to  draw  this  wrecked  husband  of 

\3 

hers  out  of  his  living  perdition.  That  long  sleepless  night 
she  lay  and  planned,  and  waited  for  the  morning  that  she 
miglit  advise  and  execute. 


CHAPTER  LII. 

AN   EXPEDITION. 

WJIEN  Whittaker  rose  on  Monday  moniing,  lie  found 
Adams  waiting  for  him  on  the  porch  below.  It  was  but 
half-past  five  o'clock,  but  the  shoe-maker  had  waited  half 
an  hour  already.  This  sorrow  had  moved  him  so  deeply 
that  he  could  no  longer  disguise  his  sensitiveness  under  a 
rugged  and  contradictory  manner,  as  was  his  wont. 

"  Roxy  would  like  to  see  you,  Mr.  Whittaker,"  he  said. 
"And  1  want  to  tell  you  before  you  go,  that  I  think  she 
is  getting  a  notion  that  she  ought  to  go  back  to  Mark.  I 
want  you  to  persuade  her  to  stay  where  she  is." 

Whittaker  hesitated. 

"  Is  it  quite  fair,"  he  said,  after  awhile,  "for  you  to  bar 
gain  with  a  doctor  beforehand  that  he  shall  prescribe  such 
and  such  remedies?  You  must  leave  me  free." 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  grumbled  Adams.  "But  why 
should  you  want  her  to  leave  her  father's  house  to  go  back 
to  such  a  man  ?  Why  can't  she  be  comfortable  where  she 
is?" 

"We  have  to  take  things  as  we  find  them.  You  don't 
grumble  at  a  man  for  having  big  or  little  feet.  You  have 
to  fit  the  feet  he  brings.  I  leave  it  to  your  good  sense 
whether  Roxy  is  likely  to  be  happy  at  home." 

"£he  was  once.     I  wish  she'd  stayed  there." 

"But  she  can't  be  contented  at  home  now— she  caifcf 
blot  out  the  years  since  she  was  married." 


AN  EXPEDITION.  377 

u  But  think  of  the  humiliation  of  her  going  back." 
"  Yes,  I  know." 

"You  are  going  to  advise  her  to  go  back,  I  suppose  ?" 
"  No,  I  can't  do  that.      That  is  a  hard  road,  and  I  don't 
know  how  strong  she  is.     Let  her  take  her  own  course : 

O  7 

right  for  one  is  wrong  for  another.  She  is  an  extraor 
dinary  woman,  Mr.  Adams." 

Adams  made  no  reply,  and  they  took  their  way  to  hia 
house.  Roxy  was  pacing  the  floor  when  they  came  in. 

"  Mr.  Whittaker,"  she  said  anxiously,  "  Mr.  Highbury 
says,  and  other  people  say,  that  it  would  be  a  sin  for  me  to 
forgive  Mark,  and  to  go  back.  I  want  you  to  tell  me 
what  you  think  about  it." 

"  It  is  never  wrong  to  do  good.  It  cannot^  be  wrong  to 
do  good." 

"I  am  going  back  to  Mark,  then,"  she  said,  swiftly. 
"He  looked  through  that  window  at  me  last  night,  and 
his  face  was  so  wretched  that  I  couldn't  sleep  all  night. 
Surely  it  can't  be  wrong  to  help  him  out  of  his  misery." 

"  There  is  no  law  against  your  trying  to  be  as  forgiving 
and  as  good  as  God.  You  must  judge  whether  you  can 
finish  tliis  task  you  are  undertaking." 

Roxy  gave  her  arms  an  excited  twitch,  stretching  them 
downward  their  full  length.  Her  eyes  shone  with  a  fever 
ish  luster,  and  Whittaker  could  not  but  observe  that  dila 
tation  of  the  nostrils  and  wide  openness  of  the  eyelids  that 
expressed  a  deep  and  eager  excitement.  After  awhile  she 
spoke,  in  a  lower  voice : 

u  Where  is  Nancy  Kirtley  ?" 

"  She  is  at  her  father's." 

Roxy  looked  puzzled. 

"I  must  see  her  first,"  she  said.  "I  have  a  plan,  and  I 
must  see  her." 


378  ROXT. 

Wliittaker  looked  in  her  eyes.  The  Ills  diooptd  over 
pupils  that  seemed  drawn  to  a  point.  He  half -guessed  the 
purpose  she  was  trying  to  conceal. 

"Dear  friend,"  he  said,  "  I  think  I  know  what  your  plan 
is.  It  is  a  hard  road  you  are  about  to  travel.  Better  to 
draw  back  now  than  to  make  matters  worse  by  failure, 
after  a  while.  I  dare  not  advise  you  to  do  such  a  thing. 
It  frightens  me  to  think  of  it." 

"  Will  there  be  anything  wrong  in  it  ? " 

"No.  But  are  you  able  to  do  it?  Are  you  able  to 
drink  this  cup  and  be  baptized  with  this  baptism  ?  As  for 
the  act  you  are  thinking  of  in  regard  to  Nancy,  it  is  noble 
— the  noblest  possible." 

"  I  would  l^ke  to  do  the  noblest  tiling  possible,  and  God 
helping  me,  I  am  going  to  try."  Again  she  twitched  her 
arms  and  paced  the  floor.  "Don't  discourage  me.  I  know 
it  will  be  hard.  Give  me  all  the  encouragement  you  can. 
Tell  me  that  God  will  help." 

"Indeed  he  will.  Indeed  he  will,"  said  Whittaker,  in 
a  husky  voice.  The  tone  of  entreaty  in  which  Roxy  had 
spoken  deeply  moved  all  in  the  room.  Jemima  was  stand 
ing  by  the  door  wiping  her  eyes  with  her  apron,  and 
Adams  was  looking  out  of  the  window  through  the  tears 
he  could  neither  keep  back  nor  conceal. 

"Promise  that  you  will  not  let  me  faint  by  the  way — 
that  you'll  give  a  word  of  encouragement  or  reproof, 
if  I  falter.  For  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Whittaker,  I've  thought  all 
night  about  this,  and,  let  it  cost  what  it  will,  I  mean  to 
undo  this  evil.  If  God  helps  me,  I'll  live  and  die  to  over 
come  it.  This  is  my  work,  for  the  rest  of  my  time.  Now 
I  have  found  it,  do  not  say  anything  to  keep  me  from  it." 

"  God  forbid  ! "  said  Whittaker.  But  he  bowed  his  head 
upon  his  hand. 


AX  EXPEDITION.  379 

"Roxy/'  said  the  old  shoe-maker,  "you  didn't  do  this 
thing — this  trouble  is  none  of  your  making  What  do  yon 
concern  yourself  about  it  for?  All  sinners  have  to  suffer, 
and  Mark  only  suffers  what  he  deserves." 

It  touched  Roxy  to  hear  her  father  assume  a  pleading 
tone.  It  had  never  been  his  custom,  in  speaking  to  her,  to 

IT  t5 

speak  otherwise  than  with  authority. 

"  You  are  wrong,  father,"  she  said,  putting  her  hand 
tremblingly  upon  his  arm.  She  had  never  caressed  him 
so  much  within  her  memory.  "Mark  is  not  the  only  one 
to  blame.  If  I  had  been  wiser,  and  kinder,  and  gentler 
than  I  was,  it  would  not  have  happened.  It  is  my  fault. 
If  I  had  only  known — if  I  had  only  known  !  You  are  too 
hard  on  Mark,  all  of  you."  She  turned  toward  Whittaker 
as  she  uttered  this  last  word. 

"  It  is  the  best  sign  that  you  will  succeed,  Roxy,  that 
you  can  extenuate  his  fault.  That  is  a  true  sign  of  for 
giveness,"  said  Whittaker. 

"  Come  right  along  to  breakfast,"  said  Jemima.  "  The 
biscuits  is  gettin'  cold." 

But  she  said  this  with  so  much  pathos  that  her  inflection 
was  ludicrously  out  of  keeping  with  the  subject  of  bis 
cuits. 

The  old  shoe-maker  went  out  the  door  and  away  to  his 
work  fasting.  Nothing  was  so  intolerable  to  him  as  his 
own  sensibility.  Whittaker  refused  the  invitation  to  break 
fast  and  took  his  leave.  When  he  had  gone  out  of  the 
house  he  could  not  think  where  Roxy  would  get  a  horse 
for  her  journey.  But  j  ust  in  front  of  Lef aure's  house  he 
met  old  Bob  riding  Roxy's  own  saddle-horse.  For  Bob 
had  taken  advantage  of  the  present  disorder  of  the  Bon 
amy  place  to  treat  himself  to  many  and  various  luxuries. 
Among  others  was  that  of  riding  when  he  came  into  the 


380  ROXY. 

town  on  an  errand.  Besides  the  pleasure  of  a  motion  that 
cost  iii in  no  effort,  it  suited  his  dignity  to  ride. 

"  Hello,  Bob  !  "  said  Whittaker,  "  how's  Mr.  Bonamy  ? " 

"  Po'ly  sah,  mighty  po'ly.  Walks  roun'  de  house  mos1 
all  night,  sah." 

"  I  see  you  ride  a  good  deal,  Bob,"  said  the  minister 
mischievously.  "  Do  you  have  rheumatism  ? " 

"  Yes  sah,  I'se  pow'ful  weak  dese  times,  sah.  But  I 
rides  'cause  de  hoss  needs  de  exe'cise." 

"  I  think  Mrs.  Bonamy  wants  that  horse  to-day,  Bob." 

"  She  do  ? "     Bob's  eyes  grew  to  saucers. 

"  You  just  come  in  here  an  I'll  give  you  a  side-saddle 
and  then  you  take  the  horse  over  to  Mrs.  Bonamy  and 
tell  her  I  sent  you." 

Bob's  ardent  wish  had  been  that  Eoxy  should  return. 
Now  he  was  like  them  that  dream  as  he  put  on  the  horse 
an  old  side-saddle  of  Mrs.  Lefaure's  and  conveyed  the 
"clay-bank  colt,"  as  he  called  the  horse,  over  to  Roxy. 

Roxy  had  yielded  to  the  entreaties  of  Jemima,  and  was 
endeavoring  to  swallow  a  cup  of  coffee  when  the  sight  of 
Bob  at  the  kitchen  door  made  her  start  with  surprise,  and 
gave  her  a  feeling  of  pain  and  pleasure. 

"  Good  morning,  Bob,"  she  said. 

"  Good  niornin'  Mis'  Roxy.  I'se  pow'ful  glad  to  see 
you  ag'in.  It's  awful  solemcholy  down  to  ou'  house  dese 
days." 

"  How's  Mr.  Bonamy  ? " 

"  Well,  now,  to  tell  de  trufe,  on'y  kinder  middlin'  and 
sorter  fah  like  you  know."  Bob  thought  it  best  to  be  dip 
lomatically  non-committal.  "I  see  Mr.  Whittaker  jis  now 
and  he  thought  you  inout  like  to  use  Dick  to-day  and  I 
fotch  him  over  f  :>r  you." 

"  I  do  want  Dick.     Just  leave  him  tied  out  there,  Bob." 


AN  EXPEDITION.  381 

"  You  fetch  him  home  yo'self,  Mis'  Roxy  ?  Or  you 
want  me  to  come  ahtah  him  ? " 

"I'll  fetch  him." 

"  Good  Lorgoramity  ' "  said  Boh,  and  this  chuckling  ex 
clamation  as  ne  turned  away  scratching  his  head  in  bewil 
derment  did  Roxy  good.  It  was  the  beginning  of  new 
things. 

She  needed  the  encouragement  of  a  good  omen  in  her 
long  ride  over  the  rocky  roads  that  day.  Part  of  the  road 
she  had  traveled  in  happier  days  on  her  way  to  quarterly 
meetings,  and  the  rest  she  found  b}^  inquiring  her  way 
from  one  little  hamlet,  or  country  store,  or  blacksmith's 
shop,  to  another.  Behind  her  she  left  the  village  in  a 
state  of  vague  and  violent  surprise.  Bonamy's  wife  had 
been  seen  riding  out  of  town  on  her  own  horse.  What 
could  it  mean?  Mrs.  Tartrum  appointed  herself  a  com 
mittee  of  one  to  inquire  of  Rachel  Adams  at  her  shop,  but 
as  Mrs.  Adams  did  not  know  for  what  purpose  Roxy  had 
gone  to  see  Nancy,  Mother  Tartrum  set  afloat  a  surmise 
which  soon  deepened  into  a  certainty,  that  "Roxy  had  gone 
in  search  of  evidence  for  a  divorce  suit. 

But  ever  as  Roxy  left  the  better  farm-houses  and  more 
cultivated  farms  of  the  hill  country  next  the  river,  and 
penetrated  into  the  hollows  where  the  ground  w^as  steep 
and  rocky  and  the  people  ignorant  and  thriftless,  there 
came  over  her  a  spirit  of  depression  and  fear.  She  shrunk 
from  the  burden  of  this  day  as  a  martyr  from  the  stake. 
And  as  she  drew  nearer  to  the  Kirtley  house,  she  suffered 
her  horse  to  move  more  and  more  slowly  over  the  rough 
road.  But  at  last  she  rode  up  to  the  fence  of  what  she 
was  sure  must  be  Gid  Kirtley 's  cabin.  Her  heart  beat 
violently.  There  was  no  stile,  and  no  one  to  help  her 
dismount.  The  smoke  curled  lazily  ort  of  the  barrel  that 


382  ROX7. 


formed  the  top  of  the  stick  chimney.  The  doirs  barked  ic 
a  half-threatening  and  half-indifferent  way,  baying  awhile 
and  then  lying  down  again,  seeming  to  take  turns  in  mak 
ing  a  noise.  Roxy  looked  all  around  the  inhospitable 
house  in  vain  for  some  one  to  assist  her.  The  place  had  a 
hostile  and  sinister  appearance.  She  felt  faint  and  weak, 
and  almost  regretful  that  she  had  undertaken  so  difficult 
a  mission.  She  dismounted  at  last  on  a  corner  of  the  rick 
ety  fence  of  rails  and  then  jumped  down  to  the  ground, 
and  tied  her  horse  herself,  the  dogs  smelling  her  garments 
and  bristling  angrily  all  the  time. 

From  the  cabin  window  Nance  had  watched  her. 

u  There's  that  blamed  Roxy  Bonamy,"  she  said  to  her 
mother.  "  What's  she  come  fer?  No  good,  I'll  bet." 

"  I  'low  I'll  go  and  help  her  off  her  boss,"  said  the  old 
woman. 

"  No  you  wont,  nuther.  Let  her  help  herself.  Them 
town  women  thinks  everybody  orter  run  after  'em.  She's 
come  to  sass  me,  I  s'pose.  Liker'n  not  she  means  to  kill 
inc.  I'll  show  lier." 

And  the  desperate  Nancy  seized  a  stout  butcher  knife 
and  hid  it  beneath  her  apron.  "  Now  let  her  look  out," 
she  said.  And  she  seated  herself  on  the  corner  of  the 
hearth. 

Boxy,  environed  by  dogs,  knocked  at  the  door.  The  old 
woman  raised  the  latch  and  opened  it  slowly,  saying 
coldly : 

"Howdy.     Walk  in." 

"  Is  Nancy  Kirtley  here ;  I  want  to  see  her  ? "  said  Boxy. 

"  Thar  she  is." 

Nancy  sat  sullen  on  the  hearth.  The  old  woman  gave 
Roxy  a  chair.  Then  she  lit  her  pipe  and  sat  down  herself. 

"  You're  having  a  hard  time,  Nancy,"  said  Roxy. 


AN  EXPEDITION. 

"  What's  that  your  business  ? "  said  Nancy. 

"Well,  I  thought  maybe  I  could  help  you,"  said  Roxy  ; 
but  all  hope  seemed  to  die  out  of  her  heart  as  she  spoke. 

"They  can't  nobody  help  me.  They  wont  nobody  look 
at  me  no  more.  The  gals  all  larfs  at  me  bekase  they're  so 
glad  I'm  out  of  their  way.  And  the  young  fellers,  they 
wont  be  seed  here  no  more.  Thar's  even  Jim  McGowan 
wont  look  at  me  no  more.  An'  it's  all  along  of  you  and 
your  man.  Ugh !  I'll  git  even  yet ! "  Nancy  spoke  the 
last  with  a  sudden  burst  of  angry  fire,  with  her  teeth  shut 
and  her  fist  shaken  in  Eoxy's  lace. 

"  Nancy,  I  think  I  can  help  you  out  of  your  troubles. 
I'm  going  back  to  live  with  my  husband  and  I  want  to 
help  you,  too." 

"  You're  goin'  back !  You're  goin1  back  1  An'  me,  I'm 
left  out  here,  poor  and  larfed  at,  an'  then  when  my  baby's 
born,  everybody'll  larf  at  it,  too.  Blame  you  all !  It's 
too  confounded  mean."  And  Nancy  began  to  cry. 

"But  I  think  I  can  fix  a  plan  so  that  nobody  will  laugh 
at  you  or  at  your  child.  You  are  young  yet,  and  you  are 
so  handsome." 

Roxy  said  this  not  with  a  purpose  to  flatter  the  girl,  but 
almost  involuntarily,  for,  despite  the  trouble  Nancy  had 
suffered,  and  the  scowl  on  her  face,  there  was  a  beauty 
about  it  that  Roxy  could  not  but  acknowledge.  The  com 
pliment  went  far  toward  softening  Nancy.  Roxy  now 
drew  her  chair  a  little  toward  Nancy's,  but  the  other  diew 
back,  afraid  of  some  treachery. 

"  Nancy,"  said  Roxy,  standing  up,  "  I  want  to  talk  to 
you  in  private.  I  wont  hurt  yon,  poor  girl." 

Nancy  in  turn  was  impressed.  She  felt  Roxy's  superi 
ority  and  mastery  much  as  an  animal  might.  A?  she  had 
drawn  her  chair,  now,  close  against  the  jamb,  she  could  not 


384 

draw  it  away  from  Roxy  any  farther.  Roxy  planted  hei 
own  chair  close  by  Nancy's.  She  had  determined  to  con 
quer  all  shrinking  and  disgust.  She  sat  down  by  the  girl, 
who  now  turned  her  head  and  looked  sullenly  into  the  fire, 
clutching  the  knife  under  her  apron,  so  as  to  be  ready  ii 
there  should  be  need  of  defense. 

Koxy  began  to  whisper  in  her  ear.  She  told  Nancy  how 
much  she  had  hated  her  when  she  saw  her  that  day  with 
Mark's  watch-seal  and  Testament,  and  heard  what  she  had 
to  tell.  She  told  her  how  she  had  felt  since,  how  she 
could  not  sleep  at  night.  All  of  this  made  Nancy  uneasy, 
but  it  accomplished  what  Roxy  meant  it  should.  It  opened 
the  way  for  an  understanding.  Then  she  told  about 
Mark's  looking  in  at  the  window,  and  of  what  she  had 
thought  in  the  night,  and  how  she  wanted  to  help  Nancy, 
and  how  the  people  at  home  didn't  want  her  to. 

It  was  hard  for  Nancy  to  understand  this.  She  had  in 
herself  no  alphabet  by  which  she  could  spell  out  the  exer 
cises  of  a  mind  like  Roxy's ;  but  she  did  get  from  this 
confession  a  sense  of  the  superior  goodness  of  the  woman 
who  talked  to  her.  Her  suspicions  were  gradually  lulled, 
and  her  resentment  toward  Roxy  became  by  degrees  less 
keen.  In  fact,  since  Mark  had  rebuffed  her,  and  she  had 
come  to  understand  her  situation,  she  had  been  more  anx 
ious  to  find  means  of  escape,  than  even  to  find  opportu 
nity  for  revenge. 

"  Now,"  said  Roxy,  "  I  want  to  help  you." 

"  You  can't  do  nothin',"  said  Nancy  in  dejection 
"  Mark'll  give  me  money,  but  money  wont  do  no  goo- 
plague  on  it !  I  might  'a'married  Jim  McGowan,  a  goo* 
hearted  feller,  and  that  fond  o'  me.  But  here  I  am,  a 
who'll  look  at  me  now?  Wy,  the  ugliest  ga]  on  Rod- 
Fork's  got  a  better  show'n  I  have." 


AN  EXPEDITION.  385 

Roxy  leaned  over  and  whispered  again.  Nancy  listened 
i  .itently.  Then  she  started  a  little. 

"  You  wouldn't  do  that !  You  dursent  do  it !  You 
dursent  take  it  yourself !  " 

Again  Roxy  whispered  to  her. 

"  You  don't  mean  it ! "  broke  out  Nancy.  "  You're 
a-foolin'  we th  me  !  I  wont  be  fooled  weth  any  more  !  " 

But  Roxy,  intent  now  on  her  purpose,  laid  her  right 
hand  on  Nancy's  left,  gently  clasped  it,  and  whispered 
again  in  her  ear. 

u  Will  you  kiss  the  book  on  that  air  ?  "  asked  the  suspi 
cious  Nancy,  looking  Roxy  full  in  the  face. 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  I  will.     I'll  do  what  I  say.'1 

"  I'll  git  the  book.     You've  got  to  sw'ar  to  it." 

Nancy  rose  from  her  seat  eagerly,  and  the  knife  fell 
from  under  her  apron  upon  the  hearth.  The  clatter  at 
tracted  Roxy's  attention,  and  Nancy  turned  red. 

"  I  hadn't  orter'a'  done  it,"  she  said,  "  but  I  'lowed  may 
be  you  was  agoin'  to  do  me  some  harm." 

But  Roxy  could  hardly  make  out  that  Nancy  had  con 
cealed  the  knife  as  a  weapon. 

Nancy  brought  out  Mark's  Testament.  Seeing  Roxy 
shudder,  she  apologized. 

"  We  haint  got  no  other  Bible,  an'  as  this  'ere  is  his'n, 
it's  jest  as  good.  I  don't  know  jest  how  to  do,"  she  said, 
puzzled,  "  but  I  reckon  this'll  do.  You  sw'ar  on  this  book 
that  you'll  do  what  you  promised." 

"  I  swear  on  this  book  that  I'll  do  what  I've  promised. 
So  help  me  God !  "  Roxy's  voice  trembled.  Nancy  held 
up  the  Testament,  and  Roxy  kissed  it. 

After  a  while,  the  old  woman  had  her  earl;-  dinner  of 
pork  and  cabbage  on  the  table,  and  pressed  Roxy  to  eat. 
She  could  not  eat,  but  she  drank  a  little  of  Mrs.  Kirtley'a 


886  ROXY. 


sassafras  tea,  foi  th^ake  of  peace.  The  old  man  had  been 
duly  called,  by  the  blowing  of  a  tin  horn,  and  he  wondered 
not  a  little  at  the  amity  between  his  daughter  and  Mre. 
T>onamy.  Nancy  'was  more  and  more  fascinated  by  Roxy'a 
friendliness.  She  was  hungry  now  for  just  such  huma.i 
recognition.  Not  very  capable  of  moral  distinction,  she 
was  yet  very  full  of  feeling,  and  there  was  growing  up  in 
her  mind  a  great  sense  of  gratitude  to  Roxy  as  her  deliverer, 
— that  gratitude  which  strongly  affects  even  dumb  brutes 
sometimes.  Nancy  sat  by  Roxy  at  the  table,  urged  her 
with  the  rude  hospitality  of  the  country  to  eat,  and  won 
dered  more  and  more  at  a  magnanimity  that  was  beyond 
her  comprehension.  After  dinner,  though  Roxy  was  in 
haste  to  be  away,  Nancy  detained  her  while  she  herself  put 
some  corn  in  a  pail  and  fed  the  clay-bank  colt. 

At  last  Roxy  told  the  old  woman  good-bye,  and  then 
held  out  her  hand  to  Nancy.  Nancy  took  it — held  it  a 
moment,  while  her  face  twitched  and  her  whole  frame 
trembled.  She  felt  her  own  humiliation  deeply,  in  her 
growing  worship  of  Roxy,  and  she  had  an  almost  animal 
desire  to  be  petted  and  caressed,  greatly  intensified  since 
she  had  felt  herself  outcast. 

"  Would  you  mind — "  here  she  looked  down  and  stam 
mered — "  would  you  mind — kissin'  a  poor  thing  like  me, 
jist  once,  you  know  ?  " 

In  that  moment  Roxy  remembered  the  words  that  Whit- 
taker  had  spoken  that  morning — "  There  is  no  law  against 
your  trying  to  be  as  forgiving  and  as  good  as  God ;  "  but 
for  an  instant  her  woman's  heart  held  her  back  from  thei 
guilty  girl.  A  sense  of  the  wrong  she  herself  had  endured, 
rose  up  in  her.  But  she  repeated  to  herself  the  words : 
"  To  be  as  forgiving  as  God,"  and  then  folded  her  anna 
alout  Nancy,  who  wept  upon  her  shoulder — a  poor  dumb 


AN  EXPEDITION.  387 

thing,  beaten  upon,  of  tempestuous  passions,  but  sus 
ceptible  at  last  to  good  influence  that  came  to  her  through 
her  sensibilities — through  shame  and  defeat  and  forgive 
ness  and  deliverance. 

The  old  man  Kirtley  had  perceived  dimly  that  for  some 

reason  Hoxy  Bonamy  was  to  be  treated  as  a  friend.     So  he 

.  held  the  bridle  of  her  horse  while  she  mounted  from  the 

fence  corner.     Then  when  she  was  about  to  ride  off  Nancy 

came  close  to  the  horse  and  said : 

"  I'm  a-goin'  to  send  the  ole  man  over  to  tell  Jim 
McGowan.  He's  awful  mad  and  I've  been  expectin'  that 
any  day  he'd  shoot  somebody." 

"  I  wish  you  would,"  said  Roxy. 

"  You  and  me  '11  always  be  frien's,"  said  Nance. 
.  "  Yes,  indeed  we  will,  Nancy."  And  Roxy,  worn  with 
•fatigue  and  excitement,  rode  away  now  to  the  other  part 
of  her  task.  Sometimes  during  her  long  ride  her  heart 
rebelled  when  she  thought  that  she  had  embraced  Nancy. 
But  she  repeated  to  herself,  "  Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  unto 
one  of  these  ye  did  it  unto  me."  She  had  often  in  revival 
meetings  entreated  people  to  "  embrace  Christ."  But 
even  now  in  her  mental  and  physical  depression  it  dawned 
upon  her  that  she  herself  had  never  before  in  so  full  a 
sense  embraced  the  Chris,4  as  when  she  had  taken  Nancy 
into  her  b  >sorn. 


CHAPTER  LIIL 

ROXY'S   RETURN. 

AFTSR  Wliitta  ler's  night  visit  to  Mark  the  latter  had 
been  busily  engaged  in  adjusting  his  affairs  that  he  might 
leave  the  country.  On  that  very  Thursday  morning  his 
brother-in-law  Barlow  had  called,  partly  to  see  Mark, 
chiefly  in  hope  of  buying  the  Bonamy  poplars  at  half 
price.  And  all  day  Friday  and  Saturday  Mark  had  kept 
himself  busy.  It  was  at  night  when  business  cares  re 
laxed  that  a  returning  sense  of  wretchedness  came  upon 
him.  When  Sunday  came  and  his  solitude  pressed  more 
heavily  he  sank  into  extreme  dejection.  A  young  and  am 
bitious  man  lives  in  his  future,  a  self-indulgent  man  in 
his  present.  Mark's  future  had  been  suddenly  annihilated 
and  his  imagination  was  not  yet  able  to  discern  a  new 
one;  his  present  was  too  uncomfortable  to  be  dwelt  upon. 
It  was  in  this  mood  of  restless  dejection  that  he  started 
;>ut  after  night- fall  on  Sunday  to  walk  through  by-ways 
and  back  streets.  The  more  he  walked  the  more  lie  felt 
himself  a  wanderer  shut  out  from  the  world  about  him. 
Of  course,  he  might  have  known  that  in  time  the  village 
would  cease  to  concern  itself  about  him,  even  if  he  contin 
ued  to  live  in  the  town.  But  the  wretchedness  of  his  pres 
ent  conspicuousness  and  exclusion  bore  too  heavily  for 
him  to  forecast  possibilities  of  human  forgetfulness.  Peo 
ple  were  gathering  in  the  churches,  but  he  could  not  enter 
one  of  them  without  being  stared  at  as  the  Esau  who  had 
Bold  his  birthright.  It  was  with  such  melancholy  reflec- 


^a  RETURN.  389 

tions  as  these  that  he  came  in  sight  of  Adams's  old-fash 
ioned  hewed  log  house,  standing  in  the  midst  of  its  gar 
den-plot  in  a  lonesome  part  of  the  village.  A  sadden  de- 
si  re  to  see  Roxy  seized  him.  A  sudden  and  sharp  remem 
brance  of  the  welcome  she  used  to  give  him  overcame  all 
his  caution,  and  he  resolved  to  see  her  once  again.  The 
honeysuckles  were  growing  over  the  window  as  they  had 
grown  three  years  ago.  Some  fascination  of  memory 
made  him  choose  that  front  window.  He  looked  eagerly 
in  at  the  window — she  was  before  him,  listless  and  heart 
broken.  And  though  remorse  smote  him  sore  he  could 
not  withdraw  his  eyes,  but  pressed  his  face  closer  and 
closer  to  the  window  that  he  might  get  a  clearer  view  of 
her, — it  was  to  be  the  last.  lie  longed  inexpressibly  and 
blindly  for  some  recognition  or  forgiveness.  At  last  she 
turned  full  toward  him  and  gave  a  shriek  of  fright  and 
surprise,  and  fell  fainting  to  the  floor.  Aroused  now, 
Mark  had  bounded  over  the  fence  and  hurried  homeward 
like  a  fugitive.  He  was  smitten  with  the  idea  -that  Roxy 
had  an  utter  horror  of  him.  All  his  old  remorse  revived 
and  again  suicide  looked  tempting  to  him.  Sometimes 
the  suicidal  mania  moved  him  toward  a  life  of  reckless 
intemperance  and  moral  self-destruction.  When  morning 
came  he  had  little  heart  for  business  arrangements.  He 
could  not  get  rid  of  Roxy's  terrified  look  and  her  cry 
when  she  saw  him  the  night  before.  As  the  day  wore  on 
he  wavered  between  suicide,  intemperance,  and  a  sudden 
absconding  from  Luzerne  and  all  the  associations  it  held 
with  his  old  life.  In  this  conflict  of  impulses  he  resolved 
at  any  rate  to  go  away  from  the  house  never  to  come  'back. 
He  put  on  his  hat  and  went  out  toward  the  gate,  not  turn 
ing  to  get  a  last  glimpse  of  the  old  home  now  grown  so 
Uatef  ul  to  him. 


390 

Bob,  when  lie  had  given  Roxy  the  h^rse  that  morning, 
had  been  in  some  doubt  whether  it  were  better  to  tell  Mr. 
Bonamy  or  not.  White  folkses  quar'ls  waz  more'n  he 
could  git  de  hang  of,  'peared  like.  And  of  course  he 
could  not  know  whether  or  not  Mark  Bonamy  would  cen 
sure  him  for  letting  Roxy  have  the  clay-bank  colt.  But 
Bob  had  noticed  with  apprehension  Bonamy's  uneasiness 
during  the  night,  and  had  kept  a  watch  on  him  the  next 
day.  His  great  dread  was  that  Mark  should  go  away  and 
so  fail  to  see  Roxy  when  she  should  bring  Dick  home  in 
the  evening.  He  set  great  store  by  this  visit.  Something 
in  Mark's  manner  aroused  his  suspicions,  and  when  about 
mid-day  he  saw  him  going  out  of  the  gate  in  haste  Bob  -ran 
after  him  calling  out : 

"  I  say,  sah,  Mass'  Mauk,  I  wants  to  say  sumpin  to  ye." 

Mark  stopped  impatiently.  What  did  he  care  about  giv 
ing  Bob  directions  in  regard  to  planting? 

"  I  see  Miss  Roxy  dis  mo'nin',  sah." 

"  Oh,  you  did  ! "     Mark  was  attentive  now. 

"  Yes,  sah,  and  she  borryed  Dick  from  me.  I  couldn't 
say  she  shouldn't  have  de  clay-bank  colt,  ye  know." 

"  She  took  Dick,  did  she  ?  "  asked  Mark,  with  eagerness 

"  Yes,  sah,  but  she  said  she'd  fotch  him  he'se'f  'long 
'bout  dis  evenin'  some  time.  I  didn't  know  whedder  ye'd 
want  to  be  heah  or  not  when  she  comes." 

"  Of  course  I  want  to  be  here,"  and  Mark  went  back 
again  into  the  house. 

For  hours  he  walked  up  and  down  the  front  porch,  try 
ing  to  guess  what  use  Roxy  could  make  of  the  horse  ; 
where  she  could  have  gone,  why  she  was  coming  to  see 
him,  and  what  it  all  meant.  From  time  to  time  he  called 
Bob  and  questioned  him  about  the  whole  transaction, 
But  it  was  still  a  mystery  to  him. 


RETURN.  391 

At  last  about  four  o'clock  he  saw  across;  the  tops  of  the 
vines  of  the  vineyard,  a  woman  riding  toward  the  front 
gate.  When  he  was  sure  that  ic  was  Roxy,  he  trembled 
from  head  to  foot,  and  retreated  inside  of  the  house,  send 
ing  Bob  to  open  the  gate. 

When  Roxy  rode  up  to  the  horse-block  he  went  out 
Lhnself,  silently  holding  the  horse  while  she  as  silently 
dismounted.  Then  giving  the  reins  to  Bob  he  stretched 
a  trembling  hand  to  Roxy  standing  there  on  the  block 
and  said,  with  eyes  downcast : 

"  May  I  help  you  down  ?  " 

Roxy  gave  him  her  hand  and  he  assisted  her  to  the 
ground  and  walked  a  little  way  behind  her  to  the  porch. 
He  did  not  invite  her  in  but  left  her  free  to  go  where  she 
would  in  her  own  house,  if  she  chose  to  make  it  hers. 
Roxy  went  into  the  sitting-room  and  sat  down  in  the  rock 
ing  chair  that  Mark  set  for  her,  while  Mark  took  a  chair 
on  the  other  side  of  the  room. 

u  I  have  come  back,  Mark,"  she  said,  with  effort. 

Mark  sat  stock-still.  He  was  shaken  by  contrary  emo 
tions.  He  put  his  head  down  between  his  hands  arid  sat 
thus  in  grief  and  shame. 

"  Have  jou  come  back  to  your  house  to  stay  ? " 

u  ISTo.  I've  not  come  back  to  my  house.  I've  come  back 
to  my  husband.  I'm  going  to  stay  if  you  will  let  me." 

"  O  God  !  "  said  Mark.     But  he  said  no  more. 

Roxy  could  see  the  shaking  of  his  whole  frame.  After  a 
while  she  spoke  again. 

"  You  haven't  told  me  whether  I  am  to  stay  or  to  gc." 

"  I'm  not  fit  to  Lave  you  stay.  You  know  that,  Roxy. 
I  ought  to  have  killed  myself  long  ago.  If  you  will  only 
stay  here  I  will  go.  I'm  not  fit  to  stay  with  you." 

"  What  should  1  stay  for,  if  you  go.   I've  not  come  back 


392  ROXT. 

to  the  house,  I  tell  yon.  I've  come  back  to  you.  If  you 
go  I  will  go,  if  you  stay  I  will  stay — unless  you  tell  me 
you  don't  want  me." 

"  You  know,  Roxy,  that  I'm  likely  to  be  prosecuted  by 
the  Kirtleys."  Mark  said  this  after  a  long  time.  "  How 
can  I  involve  you  in  any  way  with  myself  while  such  a 
prosecution  is  pending  ? " 

uBut  I've  been  to  see  Nancy  Kirtley  to-day  and  I7  re 
had  a  long  talk  with  her  and  I've  arranged  the  whole 
matter  with  her.  She  is  satisfied  and  glad  to  have  things 
as  I've  fixed  them,  and  there'll  be  no  prosecution." 

"You've  been  to  Kirtlcy's!"  Mark  raised  himself  up 
and  looked  full  in  her  face.  "  You  went  to  see  that  creat 
ure  that  plotted  in  cold  blood  to  bring  this  harm  on  you  3 
And  all  for  my  sake  !  " 

"  No,  not  all  for  your  sake.  Partly  for  your  sake,  partly 
for  Nancy's  sake,  partly  for  rny  own  sake ;  for  this  is  an 
affair  that  can't  be  settled  by  halves.  I  had  to  settle  it  on 
all  sides,  you  know.  Besides,"  Roxy  spoke  rapidly,  "  I 
am  to  blame,  too,  you  must  remember.  And  now  I've  set 
myself  to  see  what  good  can  come  out  of  this  evil  for  all 
of  us,*' 

"  What  a  woman  you  are !  There's  no  man  in  the  world 
fit  to  be  your  husband.  Of  all  men  I'm  not."  And  he 
leaned  his  head  upon  a  table  and  was  silent. 

Then,  after  awhile,  he  said:  "What  kind  of  a  settle 
ment  did  you  make  with  Nancy  ? " 

"It's  not  best  to  discuss  that  now,  Mark.  Can't  you 
)i;ave  that  to  me  ?  " 

"I  will  leave  everything  to  you." 

"  Now,  Mark,  the  whole  matter  is  arranged,  if  you  caa 
be  forgiving." 

"  I  forgive  \  " 


BOXY '8  RETURN.  393 

"Yes,  you  must  forgive  me  for  being  so  severe  with 
you  as  to  help  the  temptaHon  rather  than  to  help  you." 

"  Don't  say  that  again.  If  you  talk  about  my  forgiving 
you,  you'll  drive  me  mad/' 

u  You  must  forgive  Nancy,  then." 

"  I  can  forgive  her  all  I  have  suffered  easily  enough,  foi 
that  is  about  even,  I'm  afraid.  But  it's  awful  hard  to 
think  of  her  plotting  against  you,  of  all  women  in  the 
world.  But  then,  what's  the  use  of  my  talking  that  way  ? 
I'm  not  the  one  who  has  a  right  to  hold  any  grudge 
against  any  sinner  in  God's  world.  I  could  forgive  the 
Dovil  for  be. ing  the  Devil  after  what  I've  been  through." 

"But  you  must  forgive  yourself.  You  and  I  can't 
build  up  our  life  together  again  if  you  keep  in  this  mood. 
You  must  hope  for  the  best,  or  it  will  be  only  a  wretched 
kind  of  living  we  shall  have.  I've  thought  it  all  over 
to-day.  I  want  you  to  try  to  forgive  yourself  for  my  sake." 

Mark  made  no  reply. 

"Here,  I've  been  sitting  a  good  while,  my  husband, 
with  my  bonnet  on,  and  you  haven't  given  me  a  kiss  or  any 
other  welcome  home  again.  Don't  you  love  me,  Mark  ? " 

After  a  pause  Mark  answered  slowly : 

"  No,  Roxy,  I'm  not  fit  to  say  I  love  you,  but  God  knows  \ , 
I  worship  you.  I  could  get  down  on  my  knees  to  you.  E 
I  would  like  to  be  your  slave." 

"  But  I  don't  want  that,"  said  Roxy,  almost  impatiently. 
"  Unless  you  can  forgive  yourself  enough  to  be  something 
more  than  that,  I'd  just  as  well  not  have  come."  Roxy 
rose  up,  and  jame  and  stood  on  the  side  of  the  table  oppo 
site  to  Mark.  With  his  head  still  bowed  upon  the  table, 
he  reached  out  his  hand  and  took  hold  of  the  tips  of  her 
fingers,  and,  drawing  them  to  him,  kissed  them  over  and 
over  again. 

17* 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

THE  CLOUDS  RETURN  AFTER  THE  RAIN. 

JUST  at  this  moment  Bob,  who  was  eager  to  do  all  in  his 
power  to  facilitate  a  reconciliation,  came  and  stood  in  the 
door. 

"  I  'spects  likely  you  haint  had  no  dinnah  to-day,  Miss 
Roxy.  'Pears  like  's  if  you'd  had  a  mighty  pow'ful  long 
ride.  I's  jist  got  some  suppah  on  de  table,  ma'am,  ef 
you'll  come  and  git  some." 

Mark  started  up  at  these  words  of  Bob  and  said : 

"  Come,  Roxy,  you  are  faint.  How  pale  you  are  ! "  at 
the  same  time  leading  her,  as  he  held  yet  the  tips  of  her 
fingers,  toward  the  supper-table  which  sat  invitingly  on 
the  back  porch.  But  his  thonghtfulness  and  Bob's  minis 
tration  had  come  late.  The  fatigue  of  the  day,  added  tc 
Roxy's  exhaustion  from  the  days  and  nights  of  trouble 
that  had  preceded,  were  too  much  for  her  strength.  Now 
that  her  hard  ride  was  over  and  her  last  terrible  task  of 
reconciliation  accomplished,  the  stimulus  that  upheld  her 
was  removed  ;  her  head  swam,  she  grew  faint  and  Mark 
caught  her  insensible  in  his  arms.  For  one  minute  he 
stood  stunned  with  grief  and  surprise,  a  statue  of  despair, 
holding  what  seemed  to  him  the  lifeless  form  of  the  wife 
he  had  slain. 

"  On  de  bed,  Mass'  Mark, — on  de  bed,  sah.  She  on'y 
fainted,  sah." 

Recovering  himself  a  little,  Bonamy  laid  her  upon  the 


THE  CLOUDS  RETURN  AFTER  THE  RAIN.       395 

bed  and  set  to  work  jesperately  to  restore  her.  As  soon  as 
Roxy  returned  to  consciousness  she  showed  signs  of  fever 
and  delirium.  Mark  sent  the  negro  for  the  doctor,  while 
he  stood  watching  alone  with  his  wife. 

The  doctor  came  and,  soon  after,  Twonnet  and  Jemima,. 
But  Bonarny  would  allow  none  of  them  to  minister  to  Roxy 
During  the  week  that  followed,  he  stood  over  and  about 
her  bed,  filled  with  a  remorse  that  nothing  he  could  do 
served  to  ameliorate.  He  gave  Roxy  with  his  own  hands 
her  food  and  medicine ;  no  other  was  allowed  to  hand  her 
BO  much  as  a  spoonful  of  water.  He  rejected  offers  of 
relief  with  so  much  fierceness  that  after  a  while  all 
thought  of  any  one  taking  his  place  was  given  up.  Twon 
net  and  Jemima  and  Rachel  Adams  and  Amanda  Barlow 
would  sometimes  stand  in  a  row,  helpless  spectators,  at 
the  foot  of  the  bed,  with  the  glowering  Adams  in  the 
background,  while  Mark  alone  administered  to  Roxy's 
wants.  Even  when  the  hands  of  two  were  necessary  he 
accepted  help  with  reluctance. 

As  for  sleep,  he  scarcely  had  any  in  seven  days  and 
nights.  Yielding  to  entreaties,  he  threw  himself  two  or 
three  times  on  the  hard  seat  of  a  settee  in  the  room  and 
slumbered,  awaking,  however,  at  the  slightest  sound  that 
Roxy  made.  He  scarcely  ate  at  all.  He  was  a  strange 
Bight,  standing  there  with  wan  visage,  sunken  eyes  and 
unkempt  hair,  turning  fiercely  upon  every  one  who  pro 
posed  that  he  should  rest,  utterly  unwearying  in  his  care 
of  Roxy.  No  mother  could  have  been  more  tender,  no 
devotee  more  worshipful  than  he  was  in  his  treatment  of 
the  sufferer.  The  physical  penance  of  his  awful  days  and 
nights  of  watching  relieved  the  torture  of  his  mind  and 
was  the  only  thing  that  could  have  kept  him  alive  and 
eane — if  indeed  he  were  sane !  Twonnet  watched  him 


ROXT. 

Boinetimes  in  his  wild  devotion  and  wondered  whether  h* 
were  quite  himself  or  net.  He  had  neither  eyes  nor  eara 
for  anybody  else  than  Koxy.  All  the  force  of  his  intense 
and  impulsive  nature  drove  him  madly  to  his  pathetic 
task. 

Worst  of  all,  Eoxy  talked  a  great  deal  in  her  delirium. 
She  went  over  and  over  every  stage  of  the  great  trouble. 
Now  she  was  defiantly  angry  at  Nancy  Kirtley,  now  she 
was  refusing  to  wear  this  or  that  article  of  apparel. 

"  I  will  not  wear  anything  that  was  bought  with  his 
money,"  she  would  cry,  and  then  Mark,  standing  in  a  state 
of  fascination  like  a  man  listening  to  his  own  doom, 
would  shake  and  shudder  in  a  kind  of  horror. 

"Yes,  I  will  kiss  you,  poor  girl,"  Uoxy  would  say. 
"  You  tried  to  kill  me.  You  stabbed  me  in  my  heart. 
But  there's  Jesus  Christ  standing  there  by  you.  Poor 
wicked  Nancy  !  Come,  I'll  forgive  you.  I'll  kiss  you. 
I  must.  But — oh — what  a — a  sinner  you  are !  It's  hard, 
so  hard/' 

Then  she  would  slumber  awhile  and  break  out  with : 

"  Oh,  that's  Mark !  He's  looking  in  the  window. 
Great  black  lines  under  his  eyes!  Oh,  what  a  face  !  Go 
'way,  I  can't  stand  it !  Poor  fellow  !  Poor  fellow !  I'm 
BO  sorry  for  him!  Get  out  of  my  way!  Let  go  of  me  ! 
I'm  going  back  to  Mark  !  I'm  going  to  Mark  !  Here  I 
am,  I've  come  back,  Mark !  Here  I  am  !  Here  I  am ! 
I'm  going  to  stay — to  stay — to  stay  till  I  die !  Why  don't 
you  kiss  me,  Mark,  and  say  you're  glad  ?  Oh,  dear,  I  feel 
so  tired." 

When  Roxy  talked  in  this  way,  Mark  would  get  down 
on  his  knees  and  bury  his  face  in  the  bedclothes.  But 
while  all  the  rest  wept  he  did  not  shed  a  tear. 

From  two  people  he  would  take  a  little  secondary  help 


THE  CLOUDS  RETURN  AFTER  THE  RAIN.       397 

sometimes.  Bobo  stood  by  him  a  great  deal  of  the  time. 
To  make  B:>bo  his  companion  seemed  in  some  way  a  sort 
of  propitiation.  He  had  always  felt  a  dislike  to  the  lad, 
and  now  IX>bo  should  help  him.  It  would  please  Roxy. 
J3obo  would  bring  him  the  water  or  the  medicine.  And 
wheii  his  sister  Janet,  hearing  of  Roxy's  sickness,  came  back 
he  permitted  her  to  assist  him  a  little. 

If  anybody  hinted  a  fatal  result  of  the  sickness  Mark 
turned  on  them  with  the  glare  of  a  savage.  Even  from 
the  doctor  he  would  not  hear  any  unfavorable  prognosis. 
He  was  resolved  that  she  should  get  well.  He  was  re 
solved  that  the  symptoms  were  ever  those  of  improvement. 
And  all  that  looked  on  agreed  that  if  Koxy  died  Mark 
might  die  also. 

At  last  the  fever  burnt  itself  out.  The  eyes,  so  full  of 
an  unwholesome  brightness,  lost  their  luster  and  were  dull. 
The  end  seemed  not  far  off.  The  doctos  said  that  the 
strength  of  the  patient  was  too  far  gone  for  her  to  recover. 
It  fell  to  Whittaker  to  tell  her  that  she  had  not  long  to 
live. 

"  Mark,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  so  faint  that  it  was  hardly 
audible. 

Mark  heard  her  where  he  knelt  by  the  bed-foot,  and 
came  round  by  her,  wan,  wild,  and  despe  rate. 

"  Good-bye  !  "  and  Koxy  smiled  faintly.  u  Good-bye  1 
poor  Mark, — good-bye  !  " 

But  Mark  said  nothing.  He  stood  transfixed  in  a  speech 
less  and  tearless  despair. 

Roxy  essayed  to  say  good-bye  again,  and  sank  into  a 
swoon.  Mark  saw  it  and  groaned. 

"  She  has  gone ! 7)  he  cried,  and  turning  round,  he  went 
slowly  out  of  the  room,  to  the  porch.  It  was  growing  dark. 
He  paused  awhile,  and  then  rushed  from  the  house  toward 


398  ROXT. 

the  river.  Ho  walked  rapidly  along  the  pebbly  shore, 
Mile  after  mile  he  traveled  in  a  blind  desperation,  saying 
to  himself,  "  I  ought  to  die  for  that !  I  ought  to  die  for 
that  !  "  But  whenever  the  suicidal  impulse  seized  him  and 
he  felt  driven  to  rush  into  the  water,  he  was  restrained  by 
some  thought  that  Roxy,  up  there  whither  she  had  gone, 
would  perhaps  be  rendered  unhappy  by  such  an  act. 
Then  he  would  say  "  I'd  better  serve  out  my  time.  I  must 
serve  out  my  time."  Some  thought  that  he  was  doomed 
to  self-punishment  had  burnt  itself  into  his  half-crazed 
brain. 

About  nine  or  ten  o'clock,  he  reached  Craig's  Landing. 
Here  he  sat  down  upon  a  log  under  the  bank.  The 
packet-boat,  called  "  Lady  Pike,"  was  coining  down  the 
river.  With  a  dazed  sort  of  feeling,  Mark  sat  there  bare 
headed,  for  he  had  brought  no  hat,  and  watched  the 
steamer's  approach.  She  came  up  to  the  landing,  and  the 
roustabouts,  aided  by  much  swearing  from  the  mate,  put 
ashore  the  little  stock  of  goods  purchased  in  Cincinnati  by 
the  "  storekeeper  "  in  the  back  settlement  known  as  Bray- 
town.  When  the  last  article  of  all,  a  keg  of  New  Orleans 
molasses,  had  been  landed,  and  the  roustabouts  were  run 
ning  back  up  the  "  walk-plank,"  Mark,  obeying  a  sudden 
impulse,  ran  after  them,  saying  to  himself,  "  I'll  serve  out 
my  time."  The  second  clerk,  seeing  a  bareheaded  man 
coining  aboard,  demanded  whether  he  had  anything  to  pay 
his  passage  with  or  not.  Bonamy  took  a  half  dollar  from 
his  pocket,  and  with  it  paid  for  a  deck  passage  to  Louis 
ville. 

When  the  boat  was  slowly  pushing  out  from  the  shore, 
Mark  ran  forward,  and,  recognizing  by  the  light  of  the 
boat's  torch  Bill  McKay,  the  stalwart  man  who  lived  neai 
the  landing,  called  out,  "  Bill !  when  you  go  to  town,  tell 


TEE  CLOUDS  RETURN  AFTER  TEE  RAIN.       399 

my  folks  I'm  coming  back  as  soon  as  I've  served  out  my 
time."  But  the  light  was  not  on  Bonamy's  face,  and  Bill 
could  only  see  that  it  was  a  bareheaded  and  crazy-look 
ing  man  who  had  called  to  him. 

As  the  boat  moved  away,  Mark  went  aft,  and  climbed 
np  on  a  pile  of  sacks  of  shelled  corn,  and  in  the  midst  of 
the  rude  and  regular  clatter  of  the  boat's  engines  and  the 
hissing  of  the  steam-pipes,  he  sank  exhausted  at  last  into  a 
troubled  slumber. 


09  : 
TVS 


CHAPTER  LV. 

SERVING   OMPHALE. 

So  INTENT  were  the  rest  on  the  condition  of  the  sufferer, 
that  it  was  not  until  the  night  was  half  gone,  and  their 
hope  of  Roxy's  living  had  slowly  revived,  that  the  long- 
continued  absence  of  Bonainy  excited  alarm.  A  search  of 
the  farm  was  instituted,  and  when  morning  carne,  inquiries 
were  made  about  the  village,  and  plans  were  even  talked 
of  for  dragging  the  river  in  search  of  the  body,  on  the 
supposition  that  he  had  drowned  himself.  But  Bill 
McKay,  full  of  curiosity  about  the  mysterious  bareheaded 
man  who  had  promised  in  this  wild  fashion  to  return 
"  when  he  had  served  out  his  time,"  resorted  early  to  town, 
that  he  might  find  out  about  him.  Bill's  story  and  Mark's 
disappearance  were  soon  fitted  together,  and  it  was  gener 
ally  agreed  that  Bonainy  had  "  gone  crazy."  A  man  was 
sent  to  Louisville  to  search  for  him,  but  he  was  not 
tracked  farther  than  his  landing  from  the  "  Lady  Pike  " 
in  the  morning;  for  Bonamy's  mental  aberration  had 
settled  down  into  a  mania  for  self-punishment.  He  had 
gone  to  Louisville,  partly  because  the  Louisville  boat  hap 
pened  to  come  along  at  the  moment,  and  partly  because 
the  Indiana  state-prison  was  at  Jefferson ville,  on  the  oppo 
site  bank  of  the  river  from  that  city.  But  when  his  wits 
were  cleared  a  little  by  the  "sleep  of  the  night,  he  remem 
bered  that  however  guilty  he  might  be,  there  was  no 
place  for  an  uncon victed  criminal  in  the  penitentiary 


SERVING   OMPHALE.  401 

Already  the  mania  was  taking  a  milder  form,  and  he  con 
tented  himself,  after  having  bought  a  rough  hat  at  a  Jew's 
shop  in  Louisville,  with  walking  along  a  canal  bank  through 
Shippingsport  to  the  wretched  village  known  in  that  day 
as  Portland,  where  two  or  three  boats  from  the  lowei 
country  were  lying.  He  succeeded  in  hiring  himself  out 
to  the  mate  of  the  "  Sultana "  as  a  deck-hand,  a  term 
applied  then  to  the  men  who  are  now  called  roustabouts,  or, 
in  strict  steamboat-men's  parlance,  "  roosters."  He  could 
not  have  chosen  a  more  severe  punishment,  outside  of  the 
penitentiary,  for  the  roustabout,  as  the  lowest  man  in  the 
steamboat  hierarchy,  was  subject  to  the  kicks  and  cuffs  of 
everybody,  from  the  captain  dovvn  to  the  third  mate.  But 
there  was  something  of  dignity  in  Bonamy's  speech  and 
manner  that  procured  him  much  immunity  from  the  insults 
heaped  upon  his  fellows,  while  his  rugged  frame  and  great 
physical  strength  made  him  the  equal  of  the  rudest  of  his 
companions  in  carrying  sacks  of  corn  and  coffee,  or  in 
roiling  off  sugar  hogsheads.  Perhaps,  also,  his  physical 
strength  and  the  fire  in  his  eye  had  something  to  do  with 
the  mate's  unwonted  respect  for  him.  Doubtless  the  hard 
work  was  the  best  cure  for  his  brain.  The  weariness  of 
lifting  and  carrying  made  him  sleep,  and  the  sleep  brought 
a  gradual  mental  recuperation.  By  the  time  the  u  Sul 
tana  "  had  reached  Evansville,  he  began  to  wonder  at  his 
own  abruptness  in  leaving  Luzerne,  without  even  waiting 
till  Hoxy's  funeral  was  over,  and  he  began  to  reflect  that 
there  would  be  search  made  for  him.  So  he  posted  a  note 
to  his  brother-in-law,  in  which  he  simply  said  :  "  I'm  serv 
ing  out  rny  time.  I'll  come  home  when  I'm  through." 
This  idea  of  penal  servitude  for  a  definite  time  was  fixed 
in  his  mind. 

The  letter  did  not  reach  Luzerne  until  Roxy  was  far  on 


402 

her  way  to  recovery  and  had  been  informed  of  all  the  inci 
dents  of  her  sickness  and  of  Mark's  departure.  Letters 
were  immediately  sent  to  Evansville,  but  of  course  no  trace 
could  be  found  of  Bonamy.  Advertisements  were  inserted 
in  Louisville  papers  but  without  avail.  There  were 
neither  telegraphs  nor  railroads.  But  Roxy,  when  she 
recovered,  made  use  of  the  best  means  within  her  reach. 
Since  the  whole  trade  of  the  village  by  flat-boat  was  with 
the  "  lower  country,"  she  wrote  letters  to  every  flat-boat 
pilot  and  flat-boat  hand  whose  address  she  could  get  at 
every  point  up  and  down  the  Mississippi,  asking  them  to 
keep  a  lookout  for  Mark.  There  were  also  a  certain 
number  of  old  inhabitants  of  the  village  who  were  doing 
business  in  New  Orleans,  and  to  these  R'oxy  sent  word. 
That  he  was  serving  on  flat-boat  or  raft,  or  on  the  deck  of 
a  steamboat,  came  to  be  the  general  impression.  And 
when  a  second  letter  came  from  Memphis,  saying :  "  The 
work  is  hard,  but  I  can  stand  it  till  my  time  is  out," 
there  seemed  no  doubt  that  he  was  on  a  steamboat ;  the 
time  from  Evansville  to  Memphis  was  too  quick  for  any 
other  mode  of  travel.  In  her  eagerness  to  find  him,  Koxy 
even  visited  the  coal-boats  and  salt-boats  that  touched  the 
village  landing  and  had  interviews  also  with  the  boatmen 
who  came  ashore  ii  skiffs  for  supplies,  giving  them  a 
careful  description  of  Mark's  person. 


CHAPTER  LVL 
i 

THE    GABLE    WINDOW. 

WHITTAKER  had  long  ceased  to  feel  the  old  temptation 
to  think  too  much  ahout  Roxy,  not  only  because  he  had 
found  it  to  be  improper  and  unprofitable,  but  because  of 
changes  in  his  own  mode  of  thinking.  Roxy's  heroism 
had  made  her  more  an  object  of  admiration  to  him.  But 
a  man  does  not  always  love  most  what  he  admires.  Such 
a  man  as  Whittaker — serious,  earnest,  scrupulous — may 
worship  the  heroic,  but  he  does  not  readily  love  a  heroine. 
As  a  heroine  in  esse,  Roxy  seemed  to  him  too  great  to  be 
lo.ved.  She  was  not  a  woman  to  be  petted  or  cherished, 
she  was  a  woman  born  to  suffer  and  to  achieve.  He  could 
Lave  written  a  book  about  her,  but  he  would  not  have 
written  a  love-letter  to  a  woman  of  such  a  mold.  He  no 
longer  regretted  that  she  had  not  loved  him.  One  who 
has  a  spice  of  the  heroic  does  not  mate  well  with  heroism. 
As  Whittaker  stood  now  and  then  in  Roxy's  sick-room  he 
felt  himself  in  the  shrine  of  a  saint.  But  he -did  not  want 
to  live  always  in  a  temple.  And  dimly  he  came  to  under 
stand  that  Roxy  could  not  have  been  for  him. 

He  understood  this  more  from  his  curious  liking  for 
Twonnet  which  grew  in  spite  of  him.  Not  that  he  had 
distinctly  admitted  to  himself  that  he  loved  the  lively 
Swiss  girl.  How  could  he,  a  scholar,  love  a  girl  who 
couldn't  get  her  grammar  lesson  and  who  couldn't  under 
stand  what  in  the  world  a  square  root  might  be  ?  How 
dared  he,  a  minister,  love  a  girl  so  entirely  volatile  as 


*04  BOXY. 


Twonnet  ?  And  yet  this  very  volatility  was  a  great  de 
light  to  him.  Twonnet's  merry  laugh  was  to  his  prevail 
ing  mood  like  a  field  of  green  wheat  in  the  bleak  winter, 
or  a  burst  of  sunlight  on  a  somber  day. 

"  What  a  girl  she  is ! "  Whittaker  would  say  as  he 
remembered  how  she  had  pelted  him  that  day  when  she 
leaned  out  of  the  garret  window,  and  how  she  had  rebuked 
him  from  behind  her  grandmother's  spectacles.  But  all  the 
time  he  felt  like  a  truant.  Thoughts  of  Twonnet  seemed 
wrong  to  him,  and  her  merry  face  invaded  his  imagination 
even  in  his  prayers. 

Sometimes  he  resolved  that  he  would  not  think  about 
Twonnet.  It  was  hardly  safe  for  a  man  to  allow  his 
mind  to  dwell  so  much  on  a  person  whom  he  must  not 
love.  But  a  forbidding  resolution  is  worst  of  all.  For  by 
way  of  strengthening  his  resolve  he  would  recall  reasons 
for  not  thinking  of  Twonnet.  lie  had  to  think  about  her 
to  get  arguments  for  not  thinking  about  her.  She  was  too 
light.  There  was  that  day  in  the  garden,  for  instance, 
when  she  stood,  playfully,  tray  in  hand,  and  sang  with 
mock  pathos: 

u  I've  come  across  the  sea 

From  Swissland  a  stranger, 
For  a  brother  dear  to  me 
From  Swissland  a  ranger."  i 

But  just  here  his  stern  logic  stopped  and  he  fell  into  a 
reverie.  The  logic  had  evoked  the  image  of  Twonnet, 
and  his  heart  stood  and  looked  at  her  there.  He  saw  the 
dark  curls,  the  clear  brown  eyes,  the  ruddy  brunette 
cheeks  full  of  laughter,  the  red  lips  singing  in  such  half- 
pathetic  impersonation  : 

4  A  Mttle  toy,  a  little  toy 
Of  poor  Rose  of  Luzerne." 


THE  GABLE   WINDOW.  405 

Somehow  this  struggle  did  not  put  out  the  flame — fan 
ning  never  does  put  out  fire.  The  more  he  wouldn't 
think  the  more  he  did. 

It  was  while  Roxy  was  at  the  worst  that  Mr.  Highbury, 
having  noticed  the  increase  of  the  congregation  for  two 
Sundays,  and  having  concluded  that  Whittaker  would  not 
be  easily  removed,  decided  to  make  friends,  and  at  the 
same  time  magnify  his  office  of  elder.  So,  taking  with 
him  his  fellow  elder, — a  dapper  little  man,  cipher  to 
Highbury's  unit, — he  called  on  Whittaker,  and,  after 
much  preliminary  parley,  advised  him  to  marry.  To 
which  view  Mr.  Wingate,  the  minor  elder,  cordially  assent 
ed.  He  thought  so,  too. 

"  Bnt  whom  shall  1  marry  ?"  said  Whittaker,  puzzled. 

"  Well,"  said  Highbury,  "  you  ought  to  marry  a  church- 
member." 

Mr.  Wingate  said  he  thought  so  by  all  means. 

"  And  a  person  of  seriousness  and  piety,  one  who  can 
visit  the  sick,  and  get  up  female  prayer-meetings  and  sew 
ing  circles,"  said  Highbury. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Wingate.  "  That  is  very  important 
— the  seriousness  and  piety  and  the  sewing  circles  espe 
cially." 

"  I  think,"  said  Highbury,  "  that  a  minister's  wife  should 
not  talk  too  much.  She  ought  to  be  quiet  and  grave." 

"  Grave  by  all  means,"  coincided  the  sprightly  but 
deferential  Mr.  Wingate. 

"  A  minister's  usefulness,  you  know,  depends  so  much 
on  his  wife.  She  ought  to  be  a  helpmate." 

u  You  never  said  anything  truer  than  that,  Mr.  High 
bury,"  echoed  the  earnest  Wingate.  "  A  minister's  useful 
ness,  you  know,  is  a  most  useful  and  important  thing,  Mr. 
Whittaker."  Mr.  Wingate  here  subsided  into  placidity, 


406  ROXT. 

with  a  consciousness  that  he  had  made  one  original  ohser- 
vat  ion. 

Mr.  Whittaker  very  readily  promised  to  consider  the 
iiclvice  of  his  elders.  And  after  that  he  walked  up  and 
down  the  porch,  and  tried  to  think.  But  he  could  not 
think  of  any  bod}  bnt  Twonnet.  Her  he  observed  closely, 
trying  to  imagine  that  there  was  more  seriousness  abcnt  her 
than  he  thought.  And,  indeed,  she  was  serious  enough. 
Here  was  Roxy's  illness  to  make  her  solemn.  And  there 
came  a  consciousness  that  Whittaker  was  observing  her, 
which  produced  a  constraint  and  reserve  he  had  never  seen 
in  her  before.  In  proportion  to  his  interest  in  her,  she 
showed  a  coldness  toward  him.  A  certain  fear  that  she  had 
been  too  free,  and  a  dread  of  revealing  herself  produced 
self-constraint  that  made  her  seem  other  than  she  was. 

"When  Whittaker's  school  was  out,  on  the  Friday  after 
noon  following  Mark's  departure  on  Monday  evening,  ho 
walked  home,  thinking  more  intently  of  Twonnet  than 
ever  before.  It  was  now  four  or  five  days  since  the 
members  of  his  church  session  had  bidden  him  to  marry. 
But  Twonnet  certainly  was  not  the  kind  of  person  Mr. 
Highbury  had  in  mind  when  he  described  the  stock  ideal 
of  a  parson's  wife.  Grave  in  demeanor  she  was  not. 
Whittaker  laughed  to  think  of  her  presiding  over  a  "female 
prayer-meeting."  She  could  not  always  keep  a  serious 
face  in  meeting.  He  remembered  how  she  had  mimicked 
the  elder  at  the  time  of  his  remonstrance  about  Roxy. 
Then  he*said  in  his  thoughts :  "  I  wish  she  were  as  solemn 
as  she  ought  to  be  to  be  a  minister's  wife."  But  Whittakei 
would  not  have  loved  her  half  so  well,  if  she  had  been  a 
minister's  wife  of  the  dried  sort.  It  was  the  very  joyous- 
ness  and  child-likeness  of  her  heart  that  was  such  a  foun 
tain  of  delict  t  to  him. 


THE  GABLE   WINDOW.  407 

When  the  minister  in  this  mood  reached  the  gate  of  the 
Lefanre  yard,  he  felt  like  a  school-boy  deciding  on  truancy. 
He'd  a  mind  to  try  for  Twonnet  anyhow,  and  let  the  con 
sequences  come.  But  though  he  did  not  fear  the  elders, 
he  feared  his  own  conscience,  for  he  remembered,  as 
Wingate  expressed  it,  that  "  a  minister's  usefulness  was 
a  most  useful  and  important  thing."  And  then,  too, 
lie  dreaded  Twonnet's  ridicule.  She  had  made  all  the 
young  men  of  her  acquaintance  afraid  of  her  by  her 
remorseless  laughing  at  their  foibles,  and  Whittaker  feared 
that  he  would  be  made  a  fool  of,  if  he  made  love  to 
her. 

He  found  Twonnet  the  only  occupant  of  the  house 
beside  himself.  The  children  were  gathering  periwinkle 
shells  on  the  river  shore,  Mrs.  Lefaure  was  away,  and 
Twonnet  had  come  home  from  Roxy's  to  take  charge  of 
the  house. 

Whittaker's  first  inquiry  was  about  Roxy,  and  about 
Roxy  Twonnet  could  talk  freely  with  him,  provided  he 
did  not  look  at  her  scrutinizingly,  as  had  been  his  habit 
of  late.  About  Roxy  they  talked,  how  rapidly  she  was 
convalescing,  where  Mark  had  gone,  whether  he  would 
ever  come  back,  and  what  effect  his  leaving  would  have 
on  Roxy. 

Twonnet  sat  in  a  rocking-chair  on  the  porch,  sewing, 
in  id  Whittaker  had  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  the 
porch.  After  awhile  the  conversation  lagged,  because 
Whittaker  had  fallen  again  to  looking  closely  and  search- 
ingly  at  his  companion.  She,  on  her  part,  had  immedi 
ately  ceased  to  talk.  It  made  her  cheeks  warm  to  be 
looked  at  in  that  fashion.  But  Whittaker  presently  broke 
out  in  half  soliloquy ?  repf atiug  three  lines  from  Petrarch. 
His  Italian  studies  had  been  revived  «since  he  was  think- 


408  RCXY. 

ing  of  Twonnet  by  a  new  interest  in  Petrarch.     Now  he 
came  out  with : 

"  O  aspettata  in  ciel  beata  e  bella 
Anima,  che  di  nostra  umamtade 
Vestita  vai,  nou  come  1'altre  carca  I  '* 

"What  doea  that  mean  ?"  asked  Twonnet. 

"  Those  lines  have  been  in  my  head  for  a  week,"  said 
Whittaker.  "  I  couldn't  keep  from  applying  them  co 
Koxy,  while  she  was  so  sick.  *O  looked-for  in  heaven, 
thou  blessed  and  beautiful  soul,  clothed  with  our  humanity., 
in  a  way  not  like  the  rest  of  us ! '  That  is  not  quite  it; 
either,  but  that  is  what  it  seemed  to  me  to  be  when  I  saw 
Koxy  so  sick.  She  is  a  most  wonderful  woman." 

Why  did  Twonnet  sigh  and  look  vexed  ?  Why  did  it 
always  make  her  glad  to  hear  anybody  praise  Koxy  except 
ing  Whittaker  ?  The  old  jealous  feeling  arose  again,  and 
she  said  to  herself,  "  He  is  always  praising  Koxy.  He 
can't  see  anybody  but  Koxy."  Finding  tears  of  vexation 
rising  in  her  eyes,  she  hastily  left  the  porch. 

Whittaker  sat  a  long  time  waiting  for  her  return,  with 
an  undefined  sense  of  having  somehow  offended  her,  and 
that  kind  of  wretchedness  which  a  lover  always  feels  at 
recognizing  the  fact  that  a  man,  even  a  lover,  has  but  a 
blundering  knowledge  of  a 'woman's  heart.  After  awhile, 
despairing  of  Twonnet's  return,  ha  got  up  and  went  to  his 
own  room.  But  he  became  more  and  more  uneasy.  Tho 
more  he  thought  that  he  had  wounded  her,  the  more  was 
he  intent  on  apology.  Would  she  never  come  back  to  the 
porch  ?  After  awhile,  he  heard  the  voices  of  her  mother 
and  the  children  in  the  hall,  and  his  opportunity  for  expla 
nation  was  gone.  He  sat  down  at  the  window  under  tli€ 
galle,  and  tried  to  guess  why  she  seemed  so  offended,  bul 


THE  GABLE   WINDOW.  4:09 

he  succeeded  no  better  than  men  usually  do  in  such  a  case. 
Remembering  the  time  when  the  girl  had  pelted  him  with 
paper  balls,  he  looked  up  toward  the  garret  window  and 
saw  her  fingers  clasped  around  the  window-sill.  A  power 
ful  impulse  seized  him. 

"  Twonnet !  "  he  cried,  with  that  joy  of  daring  which  a 
cautious  man  feels  when  he  has  thrown  the  despotic 
cautiousness  to  the  whales. 

She  answered  with  a  simple  u  Sir  ?  "  that  is  ,de  rigueur 
in  the  politeness  of  the  country,  but  she  did  not  look  out. 
It  was  an  old  boyish  trait  of  Whittaker's  when  playing  a 
game,  to  make  the  most  aggressive  movements,  to  carry 
everything  at  the  last  by  a  daring  tour  deforce,  which 
always  surprised  those  who  knew  his  habitual  caution. 
Now  he  was  piqued  by  Twonnet's  reserve,  and  he  was 
carried  away  by  the  old  venturesomeness. 

"  I'm  coming  up  there,  Twonnet." 

He  waited  a  moment.  The  hand  was  withdrawn  from 
the  sill,  but  there  was  no  word  forbidding  him.  He  went 
directly  to  the  attic  stair,  which  he  had  never  ascended 
before.  When  he  got  to  the  top,  he  found  the  garret 
wholly  unfurnished,  except  by  a  few  decrepit  chairs  and 
other  invalids,  put  away  for  storage.  But  at  the  end  where 
Twonnet  kept  her  doll,  and  where  she  had  surreptitiously 
held  on  to  her  childhood  long  after  she  was  too  nearly  grown 
up  to  confess  to  childish  amusements,  there  were  gathered 
two  cracked  chairs,  a  piece  of  rag-  carpet,  a  piece  of  an  old 
looking-glass  on  a  box  turned  upside  down  for  a  bureau, 
a  doll's  bed,  and  other  junk  and  toys.  Of  late,  Twonnet 
had  mostly  given  up  the  place  to  her  younger  sisters,  but 
she  still  resorted  to  this  gable  window  when  she  was  in 
trouble.  Whittaker  found  her  in  the  midst  of  this  strange 
ameublement,  sitting  on  the  floor  against  the  light,  which 
18 


410  EOXT. 

just  touched  with  a  rim  of  brightness  her  brown  head-  -as 
fine  a  Rembrandt  piece  as  one  would  wish  to  see.  She 
did  not  say  a  single  word  as  he  approached,  stooping 
ander  the  rafters,  but  when  he  came  close  enough  he  saw 
that  she  had  been  crying.  Behold  another  great  mystery  ! 
Why  should  a  woman  cry?  Glad  or  sorry,  pleased  or 
vexed,  loving  or  hating,  why  has  a  woman  always  to  resort; 
to  this  one  escape  for  all  emotion  ? 

When  Whittaker  essayed  to  sit  down  on  one  of  the 
chairs,  he  saw  something  of  the  old  familiar  twinkle  in  her 
eyes,  and  when  the  hypocritical  chair  gave  way  and  pre 
cipitated  him  to  the  floor,  he  understood  the  meaning  oi: 
her  smile. 

"  It's  too  bad,  Mr.  Whittaker,"  she  said,  in  the  midst  of 
her  laughter.  "  I  ought  to  have  told  you,  but  it's  so  funny  to 
see  you  fall  over." 

A  little  disconcerted,  Whittaker  picked  himself  up,  and 
then  gently  pitched  the  chair  into  a  corner,  inwardly  say 
ing  that  she  had  set  it  there,  or  at  least  left  it  there,  on 
purpose  for  him.  Then  he,  too,  tried  to  sit  down  on  the 
floor,  cutting  a  very  awkward  figure,  as  a  man  not  educated 
to  the  tailor's  trade  is  sure  to  do  in  such  an  attempt.  His 
final  adjustment  of  himself  brought  him  at  last  into  a  half- 
kneeling  attitude,  before  her.  But  if  his  physical  position 
was  an  awkward  one,  his  mental  posture  was  even  more 
so.  He  had  brought  himself  face  to  face  with  a  merry, 
mischievous  girl,  who  was  a  shrewd  and  prudent  woman 
besides,  and  who  had  been  his  confidant  in  a  former  love 
affair  three  years  before.  He  had,  so  far  as  deliberation 
was  concerned,  made  up  his  mind  to  nothing.  He  only 
knew  that  he  loved  this  girl,  good  as  she  was  mischievous, 
and  that  she  was  making  game  of  him,  having  completely 
upset  his  dignity  by  a  broken-legged  chair,  left  in  cold 


TEE  GABLE   WINDOW.  411 

blood  as  a  trap  for  him.  He  had  nothing  to  say.  But  he 
must  say  something.  Naturally,  under  the  circumstances, 
he  began  at  the  wrong  end.  After  gaining  time  by  try 
ing  to  talk  about  the  arrangements  of  her  play-house,  he 
said: 

"  Mr.  Highbury  and  Mr.  Wingate  were  here  on  Monday, 
to  advise  me  to  get  married.  What  do  you  think  of 
that \ " 

"  That  would  do  very  well,  if  Roxy  were  not  married 
yet,"  said  Twonnet,  half  poutingly  taking  the  old  doll 
into  her  lap,  and  pretending  to  have  great  difficulty  in  ad 
justing  a  pin  in  its  clothes.  By  this  means  she  let  her 
curls  fall  down  around  her  face,  and  screened  herself  a 
little  from  Whittaker's  too  intent  gaze. 

"  Eoxy !  "  said  Whittaker  "  I  shouldn't  marry  Eoxy  if 
she  were  Roxy  Adams  yet." 

"  Why,  you  said  just  awhile  ago  that  she  was  'looked- 
for  in  heaven,'  and  was  a  '  blessed  and  beautiful  soul.' ': 

"  So  I  did.  But  a  man  can't  love  an  angel,  however 
much  he  may  admire  her.  There  is  no  rest  to  Roxy'a 
goodness." 

Twormet  was  going  to  tell  him  that  he  was  just  as  good 
himself,  but  she  didn't.  What  she  did  say  was  that  this 
doll  had  got  its  broken  nose  by  falling  out  of  this  very 
window  six  years  ago. 

"  Highbury  and  Wingate  gave  me  a  recipe  for  the  com 
pounding  of  a  parson's  wife,"  he  said.  "  She  was  to  be 
half  angel  and  half  sawdust." 

Twonnet  laughed  outright  at  this,  and  Whittaker  was  a 
little  shocked  at  himself ;  but  he  had  cut  loose  from  hia 
usual  decorum  of  speech  and  action ;  and  he  enjoyed  talk 
ing  in  what  seemed  to  him  a  reckless  and  abandoned 
way. 


ROXT. 


"  For  my  part,  I  think  you  would  n^ake  the  best  wife  1 
know,"  he  said,  awkwardly. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  looking  up.  "  Think  of  me  leading  a 
prayer-meeting.  I'd  set  a  broken-legged  chair  for  old 
Mother  Tartrum,  and  I'd  give  Mrs.  Highbury  a  rocking 
chair  with  one  rocker  off.  See  how  solemn  I  can  be/ 
And  Twonnet  drew  her  face  into  a  queer  pucker,  and  saidj 
in  a  dry,  hard  voice,  "  Sing  the  twenty-first  psalm,  second 
part."  Whittaker  was  just  about  to  remonstrate  with  her 
for  her  light  treatment  of  sacred  things,  when  the  comical 
pucker  on  her  face  gave  way,  and  she  began  to  cry. 

He  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  anybody  crying.  So 
he  waited  until  she  leaned  her  head  on  her  hand  and 
grew  more  quiet.  Then  he  spoke  again,  this  time  vehe 
mently. 

"  I  don't  want  a  wife  for  a  church.  I  don't  ask  you  to 
marry  the  female  prayer-meeting  or  the  sewing  circle.  I 
am  a  man,  if  I  am  a  minister.  I  don't  love  you  as  a  parson. 
I  love  you,  Antoinette  Lefaure,  and  I  want  to  know  if  you 
can  love,  not  a  parson,  but  me,  Charles  Whittaker?" 

Twonnet  did  not  speak,  or  raise  her  head.  After  a 
while,  Whittaker  timidly  took  hold  of  her  hand.  He  could 
not  bear  to  see  her  cry,  so  presently  he  took  her  handker 
chief  from  her  lap  and  wiped  her  eyes.  Then  she  smiled 
a  little. 

"  la  it  all  right,  Twonnet  ? "  he  said,  trying  to  look  in 
her  eyes,  which  she  turned  away. 

"  Mr.  Whittaker,"  she  said,  with  a  trembling  voice,  "  my 
mother's  calling  me.  I'll  have  to  get  you  to  let  go  of  my 
hand,  if  you  please." 

Whittaker  relaxed  his  grasp.  The  mother  was  still 
calling  "  Antoinette !"  but  Twonnet  did  not  seem  in  a 
great  hurry  to  go.  Whittaker  leaned  forward,  took  hex 


THE  GABLE  WINDOW.  413 

face  between  his  hands,  and  kissed  her  on  the  cheek,  as 
he  might  have  kissed  a  child.  And  then  Twonnet  cried 
again.  And  then  he  had  to  wipe  away  the  tears,  and  kisa 
her  again  to  comfort  her. 

"  Qu'avez  vous?    What  have  you  been  crying  about?  " 
asked  her  mother,  when  she  came  down-stairs. 
•  "  Mr.  "Whittaker's  been  talking  to  me.    He's  been  tell 
ing  me  all  about  a  love  affair  of  his." 

6 '  What  a  foolish  child  you  are  to  cry  over  Mr.  Whit- 
taker's  love  affairs  1 " 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,"  said  Twonnet,  meekly. 


CHAPTEK  LVIL 

THE   STEAMBOAT   EXPLOSION. 

ROXY,  as  she  rapidly  recovered,  found  herself  the 
principal  topic  of  discussion  in  the  town.  It  was  clearly 
wrong,  in  the  opinion  of  some  of  the  strictest  people,  for 
hor  to  return  to  her  husband.  It  was  contrary  to  Scripture, 
r/r  what  is  of  more  consequence  than  Scripture,  to  wit, 
ingenious  inferences  from  Scripture.  Logical  inferences 
are  like  precious  stones,  valuable  in  proportion  to  the 
distance  from  which  they  are  fetched  and  the  Difficulty 
one  has  in  getting  at  them.  The  great  strainers  agreed 
also  with  the  camel-swallowers  that  it  was  a  violation  of 
law  for  Roxy  to  buy  off  Nancy's  prosecution  as  she  must 
have  done.  It  was  compounding  a  felony  and  protecting 
a  man  that  deserved  to  go  to  penitentiary. 

And  then  there  were  those  of  a  Rosa  Matilda  turn  of 
mind  who  talked  loudly  about  the  sacredness  of  the 
romantic  sentiments  that  had  somehow  been  outraged  in 
Roxy's  forgiveness.  And  there  were  a  few  who  approved 
in  a  cynical  fashion.  Roxy  was  no  fool.  A  whole  loaf 
was  better  than  a  half,  and  when  she  came  to  think  of  it 
she  must  have  seen  that  it  was  better  to  go  back.  But  the 
greater  number  of  people  have  a  romantic  love  for  heroism, 
all  the  more  that  they  are  quite  incapable  of  emulating  it. 
Those  who  heartily  admired  her  course  soon  had  things  all 
their  own  way.* 

But  one  day,  as  the  Fourth  of  July  drew  on  and  the  ail 


IBE  STEAMBOAT  EXPLOSION.  415 

was  made  lively  by  fire-crackers,  the  whole  town  was 
thrown  into  consternation  and  excitement  by  the  intel 
ligence  that  Roxy  had  taken  a  step  more  startling  than 
her  return  to  her  husband.  Indeed  nothing  so  awful  had 
ever  been  heard.  Some  people  thought  Roxy's  actions  a 
disgrace  to  the  Christian  religion,  an  outrage  on  civilization, 
and  what  was  worse,  a  shock  to  good  society.  For  people 
whose  minds  act  but  slowly  and  in  grooves,  there  is  small 
distinction  between  an  action  that  is  "  out  of  the  common 
run  "  and  an  act  that  is  essentially  immoral.  They  only 
knew  that  Boxy  had  surprised  them,  this  time  beyond  endur 
ance. 

She  had  gone  to  Kirtley's  cabin  and  taken  Nancy's  child. 

Mrs.  Tartrum  issued  extras  on  the  subject  every  hour  / 
giving  all  the  details  down  to  the  date  of  going  to  press.; 
She  even  interviewed  Roxy.     She  had  actually  seen  the 
baby  with  her  own  eyes  ! 

Among  the  items  in  Mrs.  Tartrum's  budget  was  the  an 
nouncement  that  Mrs.  Amanda  Barlow  was  dreadfully 
afflicted.  She  was  mortified  beyond  all  expression.  She 
had  a  right  to  be,  poor  thing !  To  have  the  family  dis 
graced  right  under  her  nose  and  eyes  in  that  way  was  too 
much  for  a  Christian  woman  to  stand.  And  even  Janet 
had  left  Roxy.  She  loved  Roxy,  but  a  sensitive  young  girl 
reared  in  boarding  school, — could  she  live  in  a  house  with 
such  a  child  without  contamination  ?  True  she  had  read, 
with  the  approval  of  her  teacher, "  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield," 
and  Walter  Scott's  novels,  and  surreptitiously,  she  had  read 
sonie  older  novels  than  Scott's  ;  but  to  read  of  such  things 
in  novels  is  quite  another  thing  to  enduring  them  in  one's 
own  family.  Even  Roxy's  new  hired  girl,  not  to  be  behind 
Janet  in  delicacy,  sought  another  place;  but  the  loyal 
Jemima  notified  Mrs.  Rachel  that  she  was  going  to  liv« 


416  ROXY. 

with  Roxy.  Jemima  had  an  innate  spirit  of  opposition  to 
shams,  and  this  popular  spasm  of  virtue  aroused  all  the 
rude  chivalry  of  her  nature.  Shjs  'lowed  they  was  only 
one  rale  downright  Christian  in  creation  and  that  was 
Koxy.  Ez  fer  the  Pharisees  an'  the  Phylacterees  that 
didn't  like  a  poor  innercent  little  creetur  that  hadn't  done 
no  harm  itself,  it  was  her  opinion  if  the  gates  of  New  Jer 
usalem  ever  opened  fer  sich  folks  the  hinges  would  squeak 
and  screech  awfully.  Roxy  had  married  fer  better  an'  fer 
wuss  and  when  wuss  come  thicker  and  faster  and  more  of 
it,  she  took  the  wuss  and  done  what  she  could  with  it. 

About  this  time,  however,  the  town  was  diverted  from 
its  discussion  of  the  merits  of  Roxy's  action  and  from 
speculation  about  the  chance  of  Mark's  returning,  by  the 
awful  intelligence  of  a  steamboat  explosion,  but  a  few 
miles  away.  The  "  Red  Rock,"  an  opposition  packet-boat, 
trying  to  keep  ahead  of  the  u  Lady  Pike  "  of  the  regular 
line,  had  put  on  a  full  head  of  steam  and  in  making  a 
landing  on  the  Kentucky  side  had  been  blown  in-shore  by 
the  wind.  The  engineer  was  quite  unwilling  to  allow 
any  of  the  steam  to  escape ; — it  had  been  made  by  a 
prodigious  expenditure  of  tar  and  soap-fat  and  other  in 
flammables  thrown  into  the  furnaces.  In  vain  the  pilot 
tried  to  back  out,  the  wind  drove  the  stern  of  the  boat 
ashore,  in  vain  he  tried  to  run  ahead,  the  steamer  had  aa 
yet  no  steerage  way  and  the  bow  lay  flat  against  the  sandy 
bottom.  At  last  poles  and  spars  were  resorted  to,  the 
steam  still  carefully  hoarded.  The  passengers  stood  on 
the  guard,  a  young  Baptist  minister,  who  with  his  bride 
had  just  come  aboard,  stood  half-way  up  the  stairs  waving 
his  handkerchief  to  the  friends  on  shore,  when  in  an 
instant  the  boat  flew  into  a  thousand  pieces.  People  were 
hurled  into  the  air,  dropped  into  the  water,  on  the  bank, 


THE  STEAMBOAT  EXPLOSION.  417 

everywhere.  They  were  scalded,  drowned,  destroyed,  torn 
to  atoms.  It  was  told  that  a  piece  of  the  boiler  crossed 
the  river,  and  cut  down  a  black  locust-tree,  six  inches  in 
diameter.  The  first  clerk  went  into  the  air,  fell  feet  fore 
most  into  deep  water,  and  swam  ashore.  The  bar-keeper 
alighted  on  the  inverted  roof  of  his  bar,  away  in  the 
stream,  and  was  saved.  The  young  Baptist  minister  and 
his  wife  were  never  found.  A  mile  away  from  the  place 
of  explosion,  in  a  tree-top,  there  was  found  a  coat-collar, 
which  his  friends  thought  belonged  to  him. 

As  all  this  happened  but  four  miles  below  the  town, 
Luzerne  was  thrown  into  a  state  of  agitation  such  as  only 
a  village  can  know.  Many  in  the  village  had  friends  and 
acquaintances  on  the  boat.  The  passengers  least  hurt 
were  brought  to  Luzerne  to  be  cared  for.  The  firemen, 
standing  near  the  boilers,  were  all  killed,  and  but  one 
of  the  roustabouts  was  saved.  This  roustabout,  Bob  Olcott, 
was  laid,  bruised  and  maimed,  in  the  village  hotel.  In  a 
few  days  he  was  able  to  sit  in  the  bar-room  and  regale 
the  stock  company  of  loafers  with  a  full  account  of  what 
he  saw,  and  heard,  and  felt  of  the  explosion,  though  in 
fact  he  knew  nothing  about  it  until  he  found  himself 
lying,  bruised  and  stunned,  in  the  sand  of  the  shore,  some 
minutes  after  the  boilers  had  burst.  But  as  the  story 
grew  in  wonderf  illness,  many  resorted  to  the  bar-room  to 
talk  with  "  the  feller  that  had  been  blowed  up."  And  as 
nearly  every  stranger  who  came  felt  bound  to  "  stand 
treat "  after  the  story  was  ended,  the  roustabout  did  not 
take  especial  pains  to  keep  it  strictly  limited  to  actual 
observations  of  his  own.  In  truth,  Bob  Olcott  embroidered 
the  account  of  the  explosion  of  the  "Red  Rock  "  off  Craig'a 
Bar  with  various  incidents,  real  and  imaginary,  taken  from 
other  explosions  in  the  great  river  system  of  the  West, 
18* 


ROXT. 


which  traditional  stories  he  had  picked  up  from  his  f  eiiow- 
roustabouts  when  they  lay  resting  on  coils  of  rope,  and 
piles  of  barrels,  arid  sacks  of  coffee,  whiling  away  the  time 
between  landings  and  wood-yards  with  pleasant  accounts 
of  disasters  and  assassinations. 

Bob  did  not  lie  from  any  purpose  ;  it  was  no  more  than 
an  act  of  good-fellowship  and  kindness  for  him  to  satisfy 
the  craving  of  his  audience.  They  would  have  gone 
away  disappointed  if  Olcott  had  told  them  that  when  the 
explosion  took  place,  he  was  sitting  with  his  feet  dangling 
over  the  guard,  just  in  front  of  the  cook-house,  and  that 
he  did  not  know  anything  more  until  he  came  to  himself 
in  the  sand-pile,  full  of  aches  and  bruises.  No  good- 
hearted  fellow  could  stick  to  the  barren  truth  under  such 
circumstances.  The  temptation  appealed  to  Bob's  better 
nature  and  he  kept  on  remembering  things.  Far  be  it 
from  me  to  reprehend  so  generous  a  trait !  Bob  Olcott 
belonged  to  my  own  profession.  He  was  a  novelist,  in  hia 
way,  and  his  tales  had  a  great  run.  Mother  Tartrum  inter 
viewed  him  every  day, — she  was  the  News  Company,— 
and  she  handed  over  his  stories  in  job  lots  to  the  small 
dealers,  who  retailed  them  on  every  street  corner  and  over 
all  partition  fences.  There  were  skeptics  who  sat  on  salt- 
barrels  and  store-boxes  in  the  shade  of  brick  walls,  and 
shook  their  heads  over  these  stories.  They  knew  better ;  the 
thing  didn't  hang  together.  But  I  shall  not  take  their 
Bide  of  the  question.  These  are  the  critics.  They  were  to 
Bob  Olcott  what  the  young  fellows  who  write  book  notices 
are  to  the  rest  of  us.  Down  with  the  people  who  pick  a 
story  to  pieces  as  a  botanist  does  a  lily  !  Long  live  those 
sympathetic  readers  who  enjoy  a  tale  in  simplicity.  Did 
not  Washington  Irving  declare  that  he  never  doubted 
anything  that  he  found  pleasant  to  believe  ? 


THE  STEAMBOAT  EXPLOSION.  419 

One  day  Olcott,  whose  story  increased  in  length,  and 
breadth,  and  thickness,  as  he  regained  his  physical  strength, 
noticed  that,  as  the  steamboat  explosion  acquired  stale- 
ness  by  the  lapse  of  a  week  of  time  and  by  incessant 
repetition  and  discussion,  there  was  an  older  topic  that 
came  back  to  the  surface  of  bar-room  and  street  corner 
talk.  Mixed  with  exciting  discussions  of  the  relative 
merits  of  Henry  Clay  and  James  K.  Polk,  he  heard  men 
tion  of  Mark  Bonamy's  affair,  and  of  the  curious  action  of 
his  wife  in  forgiving  her  husband  and  adopting  his  child. 
He  heard  with  curiosity,  but  with  something  of  the  jeal 
ousy  a  novelist  is  supposed  to  feel  when  his  rival's  book 
is  in  everybody's  hand,  the  conjectures  about  -Bonamy's 
return,  the  story  of  his  flight,  the  guess  that  he  was  at 
work  on  the  deck  of  a  steamboat. 

"  What  kind  of  a  'pearin'  feller  was  this  yer  Bonner- 
my  ?  "  he  asked,  one  day. 

Mark  was  described. 

"  He  wont  never  come  back,"  said  Bob,  with  a  melan 
choly  air  and  an  oracular  mysteriousness. 

"  Why  ? " 

"  lie  was  on  the  '  Red  Rock  '  when  she  busted, — that 
very  feller.  Told  me  all  about  things  that  very  day. 
Comin'  home  to  look  about,  he  said.  Tuck  deck  passa  i 
to  keep  from  bein'  seed  by  old  friends." 

This  story,  told  over  and  over  and  commented  on 
different  hearers,  became  more  and  more  particular  anu 
circumstantial.     The  description  of  Mark  grew  more  ex 
plicit  and  unmistakable. 

The  story  came  to  Lathers's  ears,  and,  with  his  innate 
love  of  mischief,  he  went  to  Barlow.  There  was  property 
at  stake,  and  Bailow  was  not  insensible  to  property. 
Mark  had  no  will,  and  neither  Roxy  nor  her  adopted 


420  ROXT. 


child  could  inherit  of  the  estate,  beyond  what  was  Roxy'a 
"  dower  right."  The  matter  was  quite  worth  looking  into. 

Roxy,  on  her  part,  was  alarmed  by  the  story  as  she  heard 
it.  She  went  to  see  Bob,  and  the  poor  fellow,  who  was  a 
kind-hearted  liar,  admitted  to  her  various  doubts  that  he 
had,  as  to  whether  the  man  "  monghtn't  be  somebody 
else."  Whittaker  went  to  see  the  man,  and  cross-ques 
tioned  him  until  the  imaginative  fellow  was  somewhat  dis 
concerted  "  in  what  he  called  his  mind,"  and  made  several 
amendments  and  adjustments  in  his  story.  But,  notwith 
standing  Whittaker's  unbelief  and  Roxy's  own  skepticism, 
she  was  in  greater  and  greater  uneasiness  about  Mark,  as 
the  time  went  on  and  she  had  no  further  intelligence. 

Lathers  had  many  private  talks  with  Olcott,  and  unde* 
the  sheriff's  instruction  he  became  more  guarded,  and  his 
story  became  perceptibly  less  inconsistent  with  itself. 
Lathers  paid  his  board  for  a  week  in  order  to  retain  him 
in  the  village,  and  Olcott  thought  it  about  the  easiest  run 
he  had  ever  had  in  his  life. 

One  evening  Major  Lathers  had  a  long  interview  with 
the  roustabout.  Then,  as  he  drank  with  Olcott  at  the  bar, 
he  said  to  the  landlord :  "  Barlow'll  apply  fer  letters  of 
administration  on  that,  and  the  jedge'll  grant  'em,  too." 

"  I  don't  hardly  think  so,"  said  Peter  Raymond,  who  had 
just  come  in.  Raymond  was  an  eccentric  fellow,  French 
by  his  father's  side  and  Kentuckian  on  his  mother's.  He 
was  thought  to  be  a  simpleton  by  strangers,  but  those  who 
knew  him  better  considered  him  more  of  a  wit. 

"  Why  wont  he  ? "  responded  Lathers,  with  a  knowing 
twinkle  in  his  eyes. 

"Well,  your  evidence  is  mighty  slim,  it  'pears  like,  and 
then  Mrs.  Bonamy's  got  the  best  lawyer  in  the  country  on 
her  side,"  answered  Pete. 


THE  STEAMBOAT  EXPLOSION.  421 

"  We  know  what  the  evidence  is  better'n  yc  a.  do,  and  ez 
fer  lawyer,  I'd  like  to  see  you  muster  a  better  than  Bar 
low." 

"  Well,  she's  done  it  He  come  up  on  the  mail-boat  jest 
this  minute,  and  has  gone  straight  to  her  house." 

"  Joe  Marshall  of  Madison,  I  suppose,"  said  Lathers, 
with  a  look  of  despondency.  "  He's  an  all-fired  speaker, 
but  he's  lazy,  and  he  wont  work  up  the  case  like  Barlow." 

"  'Taint  Joe  Marshall,  neither,"  said  Pete.  "  It's  a  long 
sight  better  man  than  him." 

"Who  in  thunder  is  it?" 

"  Oh,  it's  Mark  Bonamy  himself !  He  was  dressed 
rough,  like  a  deck-hand,  and  in  the  dusk  didn't  nobody  ou 
the  w'arf-boat  see  him.  He  jest  jumped  off  away  aft,  and 
crossed  the  lower  end  of  the  w'arf.  I  happened  to  meet 
him  as  he  was  goin'  up  the  bank,  and  I  says :  i  Go  to 
thunder,  Mark  Bonamy ! '  says  I.  *  I'm  that  glad  to  see 
yon  1 '  An'  he  says, ( Hello,  Pete  !  Is  that  you  ?  How's 
my  wife  ? '  An'  I  says,  f  All  well,  last  I  heerd,'  says  I. 
An'  he  never  hardly  stopped,  but  went  catacornered  acrost 
Slabtown,  steerin'  straight  fer  home,  and  walkiri'  a  blue 
streak,  like.  Now  I  don't  know  what  you  think  Major, 
but,  in  a  case  like  this  'ere,  in  which  he  takes  a  interest, 
I'll  put  Bonamy  ag'in  all  the  Barlows  you  can  git.  Mrs. 
.Bonamy's • " 

"  Got  high  and  low,  Jack  and  the  game,"  said  the  Major, 
striding  out  of  the  door  into  the  fresh  air,  and  saying, 
"Well!  that  beats  me." 

Bob  Olcott's  easy  run  came  to  a  sudden  termination  at^ 
the  end  of  the  week.  No  longer  able  to  live  as  a  novelist, 
he  had  to  carry  coffee-sacks  and  roll  whisky-barrels  onca 
more.  He  is  not  the  only  man  in  the  profession  who 
failed  frcm  overdoing  things. 


CHAPTER  LYIIL 

JIM   AND   NANCY. 

ON  the  evening  preceding  this  conversation  in  the  bar 
room,  and  the  report  of  the  return  of  Mark,  Roxy  had  had 
a  visitor.  She  had  agreed  to  give  Nancy  Kirtley  enough 
money  to  carry  her  to  some  distant  country,  and  to  "  set 
her  up  "  when  she  got  there.  For  Nancy  was  resolved  to 
have  nothing  more  to  do  with  Rocky  Fork.  She  had 
come  by  appointment  now  to  conclude  the  matter  with 
Roxy.  She  had  a  dim,  half -human  sense  of  the  immense 
goodness  of  Roxy — such  a  sense  as  prompts  a  dog  to  caress 
the  bountiful  hand  of  his  master. 

"  Jim  and  me  was  married  to-day,"  said  Nancy,  with  a 
little  exultation.  "  Jim's  a  good  feller  to  come  back  to  me 
after  all,  now,  haint  he  ? " 

"  Yes,  he  is.     You  must  be  good  to  Jim." 

"  Lawzy !  It  haint  in  me.  I  can't  help  bein'  a  leetle 
bad,  ye  know." 

Roxy  settled  her  account  with  Nancy,  giving  her  what 
was  a  large  amount  of  money  for  that  time. 

"  It'll  buy  Jim  a  farm,  out  in  Missouri,  and  a  hoss,  and 
two  cows,  and  may  be  more,"  said  Nance,  as  she  prepared 
^to  go. 

On  the  steps  she  stopped,  looked  down,  and  hesitated  a 
minute. 

"  They's  one  thing  more,"  she  said. 

"What's  that 2" 


JIM  AND  NANCT.  423 

u  The  leetle  feller.  If  you'd  jest  as  lieve,  I'd  kinder 
to  take  one  last  look  at  him  afore  I  go.  He's  yourn 
now,  but  somehow  I'm  his  own  nat'ral  mother.  Ef  you'd 
jest  &,*  Keve." 

"Yorf,"  said  Roxy,  reluctantly,  and  with  a  feeling  of 
jealousy. 

When  .Kancy  saw  the  child,  she  said : 

"  Wel^  now  !  you  have  fixed  him  up,  haint  you  !  An'  he's 
so  party.  Pvit  then  Le'll  never  know  nothin'  about  his  own 
flesh  and  blood  mother.  I  sha'n't  trouble  him.  It's  better 
he's  yourn.  But," — here  she  wiped  her  eyes, — "  but  when 
he  gits  to  be  a  gentleman  and  all,  he'll  never  know  'at  he's 
got  another  mother."  She  stooped  and  kissed  the  baby. 
Then  she  went  out  to  the  door,  and  when  she  parted  with 
Roxy,  she  seized  her  hand  saying :  "  You're  awful  good. 
You're  awful  good.  I  'low  they  haint  no  more  sich  as 
you." 

That  night,  she  and  Jim  McGowan  took  boat  for  the 
Missouri  River.  They  were  absorbed  into  the  community 
of  Pikee,  ar.d  Rocky  Fork  knew  them  no  more. 


CHAPTER  LIX. 

THE   PRODIGAL. 

ONE  can  never  have  done  admiring  the  beauties  of  a 
late  afternoon  on  the  Ohio.  In  a  village  like  Lnzerne, 
where  every  house  was  bowered  in  apple-trees,  and  rose 
bushes,  and  grape-vines,  and  honeysuckles,  it  was  always 
a  delight.  That  is  a  lazy  climate,  and  a  town  like  Luzerne 
is  a  place,  in  which  half  the  people  seem,  to  a  stranger,  to 
have  nothing  much  to  do.  At  some  seasons  of  the  year, 
when  onion  buying  and  hay  shipping  were  active,  the  town 
had  some  appearance  of  life ;  but  it  was  never  so  peaceful 
and  sleepy-looking  as  about  the  first  of  August.  In  mid- 
afternoon,  the  clerks  in  the  stores  sprinkled  the  floors  to 
keep  them  cool,  and  then  sat  themselves  down  on  shoe- 
boxes  or  counters  to  loaf  away  the  hot  and  idle  time,  rising 
with  reluctance  to  sell  a  half  pound  of  eightpenny  nails 
to  some  unlucky  villager,  into  whose  garden  an  industrious 
hog  had  forced  his  way,  and  who  was  obliged  to  exert  him 
self  enough  to  nail  on  a  few  palings.  The  roses  have  long 
since  ceased  blooming.  The  red  seed-vessels  look  bright 
among  the  green  leaves  of  the  rose-trees.  One  can  hear 
everywhere,  on  such  a  day,  the  voices  of  the  red-bird  and 
the  twittering  of  the  martins  and  the  chatter  of  chimney- 
swifts.  The  grapes  are  hardly  reddening  yet,  but  you 
can  hear  at  this  season  the  thud  of  the  ripe  summer  apples, 
as  they  fall  from  time  to  time  upon  the  ground.  Nobody 
does  anything.  The  b^ys  find  it  too  warm  to  play.  They 


THE  PRODIGAL.  425 

are  up  in  the  apple-trees,  filling  their  hats  and  shirt-bosoma 
with  the  too  abundant  fruit,  or  they  are  prowling  about 
some  garden-patch,  waiting  their  opportunity  to  "hook"  a 
great  ripe  water-melon.  They  know  a  good  place  in  some 
•retired  orchard,  or  under  a  drift-pile  of  the*  river-side, 
where  they  can  carry  their  booty,  and  find  out  how  sweet 
are  stolen  melons.  A  little  later,  when  the  rays  of  the 
sun  are  less  iiery,  the  whole  village  full  of  boys  will  be 
swimming  in  the  tepid  river,  shouting,  diving,  splashing 
one  another,  for  hours  at  a  stretch. 

It  is  a  beautiful  climate  on  this  beautiful  river,  where 
the  winters  are  never  stern,  and  where,  in  the  hot  summer, 
one  is  absolved  from  responsibility  and  care.  Nowhere  ia 
the  "  sweet  doing  nothing  "  sweeter  than  here.  Lie  down 
under  a  cherry-tree  and  sleep,  stretch  yourself  near  an 
open  door- way  and  read,  with  the  sound  of  cow-bells,  and 
the  far  away  cawing  of  crows,  and  the  cackling  of  hens, 
and  the  scarcely  heard  and  lazy  hammering  of  the  village 
smith  floating  to  you  out  of  an  air  full  of  stillness  and 
peace.  Put  away  your  book  at  last.  The  world  is  too 
comfortable  for  exertion.  The  repose  in  the  sky  and  in 
the  faint  breeze  is  too  exquisite.  It  is  happiness  enough  to 
be. 

It  does  not  matter  that  you  come  of  an  energetic  race 
cradled  in  the  rocky  hill-sides  of  New  England.  This  air 
is  too  much  for  you.  Why  be  ambitious?  The  poorest 
man  is  rich  enough  here.  Sit  down,  sad  soul,  or  lie  down 
and  slumber. 

Even  a  conscientious,  energetic,  studious  Yale  man  such 
as  Whittaker,  cannot  quite  resist  this  enervating  air  of 
Southern  Indiana.  The  river  is  so  beautiful,  reflecting 
the  blue  sky  and  the  banks  of  white  clouds,  arid  the  air  is 
so  refreshing  that  Whittaker  doea  not  study  much.  Hia 


426  RQXY. 

dictionaries  are  all  unopened.  He  needs  lest,  he  says,  and 
he  rests.  All  the  hot  afternoon  he  sits  on  the  upper  back 
porch  and  talks  with  Twonnet.  There  is  something  so 
stimulant  in  her  droll  speeches,  that  he  has  forgotten  to 
study.  He*  is  trying  to  prepare  her  to  be  a  minister's  wife. 
Sometimes  a  suspicion  crosses  his  mind  that  after  all  sho 
lias  more  tact  and  practical  wisdom  than  he  has.  But  for 
the  most  part  he  flatters  himself  that  he  is  teaching  her 
and  she  amuses  herself  as  she  always  has  done  by  making 
sport  of  her  teacher. 

"  I  think  it  would  be  a  good  plan  for  us  to  correct  each 
other's  speech,  my  dear,  don't  you  ? "  he  said  to  Twonnet 
one  afternoon. 

"  I  think  it  would  be  right  good  to  be  corrected  by  you," 
answered  Twonnet. 

"  You  oughtn't  to  use  the  word  right  instead  of  very  or 
quite"  Whittaker  began.  "All  Western*  people  do. 
They  say,  { It's  a  right  cold  day,'  '  He's  a  right  good  man.' 
This  is  improper." 

"  It's  in  the  Bible,"  answered  Twonnet,  roguishly.  "  I 
think  I  remember  the  expression,  '  and  that  right  early.'  " 

It  had  never  occurred  to  Whittaker  that  these  provin 
cialisms  were  archaic  forms — no  one  had  given  attention 
to  the  fact  then.  But  Twonnet's  reply  confused  him. 
He  assured  her,  however,  that  it  was  hardly  proper 
English  nowadays,  if  it  was  in  the  Bible. 

"  It's  right  strange  it  should  be  there — I  mean  it's 
mighty  strange  it  should  be  there,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  it  is.  Another  thing  that  is  bad  in  Western 
speech  is  that  you  will  say  mighty  for  very.  '  It's  mighty 
good,'  and  '  I'm  mighty  cold  '  sound  very  rough." 

*  This  is  not  true  of  the  northern  belt  of  the  West,  in  which  New 
England  usage  predominates. 


THE  PRODIGAL.  427 

"  I  suppose  they  wouldn't  be  rough  if  you  were  used 
to  them,"  rejoined  Twonnet,  with  mischief  in  her  eyes, 
"I'm  mighty  sure  they  wouldn't." 

"  Why,  yes,  they  are  rough  in  themselves." 

"  Yes,  but  you  don't  think  the  same  expression  rough  in 
French.  We  often  ^j  fort  for  very  in  French." 

"  That  is  so,"  said  Whittaker,  thrown  into  confusion  by 
this  analogy.  He  had  to  fall  back  on  good  usage  in  the 
English  language  as  the  only  authority.  Then  he  begged 
Twonnet  to  point  out  any  mistakes  of  his  own. 

"  W'y,"  said  she,  "  all  of  you  people  from  the  East  will 
pronounce  '  wholly'  as  though  it  were  not  sounded  just 
like  ' holy.'" 

Whittaker  could  not  admit  that  the  two  words  were  the 
same.  All  the  Yale  professors  softened  the  "  o  "  in  wholly. 
It  was  only  when  he  conquered  his  indolence  enough  to  get 
the  dictionary  and  when  the  dictionary  had  shown  him 
that  this  "  o  "  was  not  the  French  "cough  sound,"  that  he 
began  to  suspect  that  he  himself  had  a  local  dialect.-  For 
no  man  measures  hia  own  distance  from  the  standard. 
But  he  did  not  care  to  what  result  these  debates  came. 
They  made  talk  between  him  and  Twonnet.  And  if  she 
could  not  learn  much  from  books  the  paradoxical  young 
woman  was  a  very  keen  observer  of  life. 

When  at  last  supper  is  over,  Whittaker  remembers  how 
much  Roxy  is  in  trouble,  and  as  it  is  a  call  that  is  better 
made  in  company  he  gets  Twonnet's  sun-bonnet  and  puts 
it  on  her  head,  as  they  walk  together  along  the  river 
bank.  Whittaker  is  like  a  man  in  a  trance.  Life  has  be 
come  genial  and  joyous  to  him. 

The  slender  Bobo,  who  lives  with  Koxy  all  the  time,  now, 
is  at  the  gate,  and  he  is  always  glad  to  see  them.  He  goea 
down  to  the  gate  every  evening.  For  Roxy  has  taught 


428  ROXY. 

him  to  say  in  his  prayers  every  night  and  morning :  "  O 
God,  send  Mark  home  to  Roxy  again."  She  believes  su- 
perstitiously  that  the  prayers  of  children  and  innocents 
have  a  peculiar  efficacy.  And  Bobo,  in  his  unquestion 
ing  faith,  is  quite  disappointed  when  evening  after  even 
ing  he  waits  at  the  gate  and  finds  no  answer  to  his  re 
quest. 

Just  now  he  skips  along  in  front  of  Whittaker  arid 
Twonnet,  for  he  knows  that  their  coming  will  bring  some 
cheer  to  the  anxious  face  of  his  madonna. 

And,  indeed,  the  assurance  with  which  Whittaker  spoke 
of  Mark's  return  did  cheer  Roxy  a  little  that  evening. 
The  air  was  too  balrny  for  anybody  to  believe  in  catas 
trophe.  The  happiness  of  Whittaker  and  Twonnet,  too, 
was  somehow  infectious. 

When  the  darkness  deepened,  and  the  mail-boat,  with 
its  two  tall  chimneys  flying  banners  of  fiery  sparks,  came 
in  sight,  Roxy  got  up  and  strained  her  eyes  at  the  boat  as 
it  passed.  The  whizzing  plash  of  its  paddlewheels  in  the 
water,  and  the  glare  of  its  furnace  fires  on  the  smooth  river, 
set  her  heart  beating  wildly.  Not  a  boat  had  passed  in  a 
month  that  she  had  not  gazed  at  it,  in  this  eager  fashion. 
For,  though  doing  was  easy  to  her,  waiting  was  hard.  The 
boat  rounded  to  the  wharf,  and  she  sat  down  again,  hoping 
against  hope  that  this  would  be  the  night  on  which  Mark 
should  come  back. 

And  indeed  Mark  Bonamy  was  standing  just  forward  rf 
the  wheel-house  on  the  lower  deck  of  the  boat,  straining 
his  eyes  at  the  brick  house,  and  wondering  and  wondering. 
Some  weeks  before,  in  New  Orleans,  as  he  was  helping  to 
carry  a  grindstone  aboard  on  a  hand-barrow,  he  was  think 
ing  of  home  and  debating  whether  he  should  not  return, 
His  severe  physical  fatigue  had  brought  health  to  his  brain, 


THE  PRODIGAL.  429 

and  the  old  lingering  impression  that  he  was  to  serve  out 
a  given  time,  had  grown  faint. 

"  Ees  it  you,  Mr.  Bonamy  ? "  spoke  up  Chauvier,  a 
French  merchant,  who  had  passed  one  or  two  summers  in 
Luzerne.  "  Ze  lettares  I  haf  had  from  Madame  Bonamy 
about  you ! " 

"From  what?" 

"  From  Madame,  your  wife." 

"My  wife  is  dead." 

"  I  do  not  like  to  tell  you  dat  you  do  not  speak  de  trute, 
but  pardi,  Madame  has  recovered  herself,  and  she  wants 
very  much  to  zee  you." 

"  Get  to  work,  there !  None  of  your  f  oolin' ! "  called  out 
the  mate  to  Mark. 

"  1  guess  I  wont  work  any  more,"  said  Mark,  putting 
down  his  end  of  the  barrow. 

"  You  wont,  eh  ? "  And  the  mate  bristled  up  to  him. 
The  only  means  of  discipline  among  the  deck  crew  of  that 
day,  was  the  brutal  blow  with  the  mate's  fist  armed  with 
metal  knuckles.  But  when  Mark,  irritated  by  all  he  had 
borne,  and  all  the  oppressions  he  had  seen  put  on  weaker 
men,  squared  himself  off,  the  mate,  noting  his  size,  and 
remembering  that  he  might  get  in  the  first  blow,  contented 
himself  with  saying : 

"  You  wont  get  any  pay  for  the  time  you've  worked  over 
your  month." 

Tc  this  Bonamy  made  no  reply,  but  pursued  his  won 
dering  inquiries.  Guided  by  Chauvier's  information,  he 
found  Luzerne  people  about  the  levee,  who  confirmed  the 
Frenchman's  intelligence. 

That  night  he  started  home,  taking  deck  passage  to  avoid 
observation.  With  every  mile  that  the  slow-paced  boat 
traveled,  he  became  more  and  more  impatient.  At  Louis- 


430  ROX7. 

ville  he  changed  to  the  mail-boat.  Hardly  had  the  "  Ben 
Franklin  No.  2  "  touched  the  wharf,  when  he  leaped  upon 
the  lower  end  of  the  wharf -boat,  where  there  were  110 
people,  and  ran  across,  jumping  ashore.  He  met  Pete 
Raymond  on  the  bank,  and  then  took  the  near  and  lone 
some  cut  across  the  grassy  common  of  the  lower  terrace. 

When  he  arrived  at  his  own  gate,  in  his  tatterdemalion 
costume  of  deck-hand,  he  was  kept  back  by  hearing  voices 
on  the  porch.  He  could  not  go  in  while  strangers  were 
there. 

So  it  happened  that,  when  time  enough  had  elapsed  for 
Mark  to  have  reached  home  and  he  came  not,  Roxy  gave 
up,  saying : 

"  Well,  Bobo,  Mark  didn't  come  this  time,  did  he?" 

And  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  would  never  come. 

When  Wliittaker  and  Twonnet  passed  out  of  the  gate, 
Mark  recognized  them,  but  he  concealed  himself  until  they 
had  gone.  Then  he  approached  the  gate  where  Bobo  had 
stopped  when  he  had  accompanied  Wliittaker  and  Twonnet 
thus  far.  The  lad  was  gazing  through  the  palings  and 
wondering  why  God  did  not  tell  Mark  to  come  home. 

"  Is  that  you,  Bobo  ? "  said  Mark,  gently. 

Recognizing  the  voice,  Bobo  gave  a  great  cry  of  delight 
and  ran  wildly  into  the  house. 

"  Mark's  come  back  to  Roxy  !  "  he  cried. 

Mark  had  walked  up  under  the  old  poplars,  trembling 
with  he  knew  not  what  emotion,  until  he  was  half-way 
to  the  house,  when  he  saw  Roxy  coining  toward  him. 

He  stopped  there,  ashamed,  for  the  first  time,  of  his 
appearance,  and  in  some  strange  trepidation  about  the 
reception  he  would  have. 

Roxy  could  not  recognize  him  in  the  darkness.  She 
paused,  and  then  said,  interrogatively  : 


THE  NEXT   SUNDAY,  SHE   TOOK   HER   OLD   PLACE    TN   THE  METHO 
DIST  MEETING   HOUSE. 


THE  PRODIGAL.  431 

"Mark?" 

"  Yes,  Rox/  " 

Mark  had  not  long  to  doubt  of  his  welcome  then.  What 
were  soiled  and  ragged  clothes  or  bitter  and  guilty  mem 
ories  ?  He  was  at  home,  forgiven,  kissed,  embraced,  wept 
over,  loved  as  of  old.  When  Roxy  had  embraced  him  over 
and  over,  and  wept  upon  his  neck,  she  led  him  into  the 
house  in  triumph.  She  had  conquered  at  last. 

The  next  Sunday,  she  took  her  old  place  in  the  Meth 
odist  meeting-house.  Mark  stayed  at  home,  because  Roxy 
did  not  like  to  have  him  subjected  to  any  humiliation  from 
the  looks  or  words  of  those  about  him*  But  she  sat  again  in 
the  amen  corner,  among  the  sisters  who  were  active  in  the 
church.  There  was  the  old  look  of  gladness  in  her  face. 
There  was  more  than  the  old  gladness,  now,  in  her  heart — 
there  was  blessedness.  It  was  the  quarterly  meeting,  and 
when  the  venerable  elder  read  with  emotion,  "  Blessed  are 
they  which  do  hunger  and  thirst  after  righteousness  :  for 
they  shall  be  filled,"  tears  of  joy  were  in  her  eyes,  and  a 
fullness  as  of  God,  in  her  heart.  .And  when  he  read, 
"  Blessed  are  the  merciful :  for  they  shall  obtain  mercy," 
many  in  the  congregation  turned  their  eyes  toward  her. 
But  when  the  white-haired  old  man  read,  u  Blessed  are  the 
peacemakers,"  his  voice  quivered,  and  he  involuntarily 
looked  at  Roxy  ;  then  he  slowly  finished:  "for  they  shall 
be  called  the  children  of  God."  Every  word  dropped 
like  a  benediction  into  her  heart.  She  bowed  her  head 
upon  the  back  of  the  seat  in  front  of  her  and  wept,  while 
sighs  and  sobs  were  heard  from  the  demonstrative  people 
all  over  the  house.  And  of  all  who  knelt  by  the  rude 
benches  in*  that  old  church  that  day  to  eat  and  drink  the 
blessed  bread  and  wine,. there  were  none  who  took  the 
secret  sacrament  as  did  the  woman  who  had  dared  to  give 


432  ROXT. 

her  heart  to  suffer  for  others,  after  the  pattern  of   the 
Master  of  self-sacrifice. 

The  people  said  that  Roxy  was  her  old  self  again.  But 
she  was  not.  A  great  experience  transforms.  We  must 
ever  be  more  or  less  than  our  old  selves.  Roxy  was  not 
now  the  zealous  and  restless  young  woman  seeking  a 
mission,  and  longing  for  hard  tasks.  Her  work  was  in 
her  hands,  and  she  was  easily  master  of  it.  The  victory 
of  paradise  was  already  in  her  heart,  f  c  r  she  had  overcome 
the  world's  tribulation. 


•  7   \ 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below, 
or  on  the  date  to  which  renewed.  Renewals  only: 

Tel.  No.  642-3405 

Renewals  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  date  due. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


.        ' 


9BS.CO.      SEP17'TO 


SEP2Q1985 


RECEIVED  BY 


:     7  19P4 


LD21A-10m-8,'73 
R1902S10)476 — A-31 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


